Hold Me Down
by SheWritesThings
Summary: Seven year old Daisy knows all about the funny, dirty homeless man she finds in the park one day, and she's determined to make him remember. It's not true, what they say, she tells him. You're Captain America's best friend, so you can't be bad. She doesn't understand the danger she puts her older sister and only living family member in when she brings her new friend home.
1. Prologue

**AN: Just an idea I had floating around. Lost a bit of my must for my other story, got really busy, but I had this idea. Anyone reading Project Lazarus—I will be continuing it, I promise, but enjoy this in the mean time? It's a completely different story, and a completely different take on his recovery.**

 **And, to any newcomers, WELCOME! I hope anyone reading this enjoys it! Remember to drop a review!**

 **Prologue**

Three weeks. Three weeks she had been out of the hospital and she had spent every waking second tracking him down. She was furious; how _dare_ he, after everything she and Daisy had done for him—how _dare he_ leave? She was terrified; she knew they had Daisy, and she had no idea where to find them.

Tracking him down wasn't all that hard; no wonder Hydra had found him so easily. She was just a 24-year-old veterinarian with a computer, maybe slightly above average intelligence. She knew he would have gone to find Steve—Captain America, that is. That, or the Captain would have found him. Turns out, America's Greatest Hero had a bit of a fan club and whatever he did was plastered all over the internet. It didn't take her long to find the crazy fans who know his routine, including his morning run, should anyone want to bombard him and, like, bottle his sweat or whatever they intended to do.

That definitely wasn't her plan.

It was early—ungodly early, she thought to herself, which she suspected to be his counter move to the online stalking. It would be more difficult for the teenage girls and guys to track him down at this hour without parents getting in the way.

She was walking the track, waiting. He would be here any minute. There were only a couple of other people around; the sun wasn't even up yet. She breathed deeply and wiped her hands on her sweat pants. She wouldn't be running much; she was barely out of the hospital, after all, and after the beating she had taken running was something she wanted to avoid as much as she could. So she walked, trying to look casual, feeling obvious, looking around until, sure enough, she spotted him.

She wasn't sure why he bothered with the disguise; a beanie, and a hooded sweatshirt over that, hiding his face. But there was no mistaking him—he was tall, broad, he even ran like a superhero. She didn't have to look twice to know it was him, and he was running toward her, which made things just a little easier.

 _This is it, Pet_ , she told herself, bracing. She didn't have much of a plan. She watched him sprint closer, realizing that at the speed he was going she wouldn't be able to get a word in before he blew past her. He was sprinting closer, closer still, and her mind seemed to stutter and she did the only thing she could think to do: she threw herself in front of him, waving her good arm wildly, shouting.

" _Hey! Stop!_ "

He tried to stop, to his credit, but he still hit her like a freight train. She yelped. That definitely hadn't felt good on her fractured rib, and even though he caught her, she still doubled over with a whimper and tears in her eyes, nearly going to her knees.

"Ma'am," he was saying, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said, but no, she wasn't, not at all. She looked up and found herself staring into the biggest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. She cleared her throat and prayed to anyone who was listening that this would work. "Captain Rogers," she said, and she wasn't sure what to call him but that seemed to fit. His eyes flattened a little, his mouth drawing into a thin line, and he looked almost annoyed. She realized she probably wasn't the first crazy woman to throw herself in front of him. She straightened up, grimacing.

"If you're alright," he was saying, edging away, but she stepped quickly in front of him. Now, he definitely looked annoyed. She couldn't blame him.

"Wait," she said.

"What is it?" he asked. She could hear it in his voice; he was trying to sound cool, calm, friendly but distant. He just sounded strained.

"Look," she said, "I'm not stalking you, I just—" but he barked out a laugh.

"If I had a nickel—"

"Where's Barnes?" she demanded, getting right to the point, and his face stilled. He stared at her, the humorless laughter gone from his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said darkly, straightening up to his full height.

"You're a liar," she said. "You're a liar and I know it. Where is he?"

He glanced around quickly; he looked angry, now. She looked around, too, and when she saw that no one was paying attention she looked back up at him. She yelped, but he covered her mouth with one hand as he seized her and backed her against a tree, hiding them both from prying eyes. He slammed her back none too gently against the trunk and tears leapt to her eyes again. All the breath was gone from her lungs and she wheezed. It hadn't been a hard hit by any means, but oh, she was sore.

"What the—"

He kept one hand on her shoulder, the one that had been dislocated, but he couldn't have known that. He held her with just enough pressure to keep her in place.

"Who are you?" She hadn't ever seen Captain America as frightening before. But the skin on his nose wrinkled when he was angry, those blue eyes frightening, flat and dark. She swallowed; her voice caught in her throat. "Who sent you?"

"I'm flattered," she mumbled. "But I sent me. I need to see him. Have you found him?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"Or did he find you? Last he told me he was going to find you, but—"

" _Who are you?_ "

He wasn't messing around. The pressure on her shoulder increased and a tear actually escaped her eye.

"I need to see him," she gasped, and it came out like a plea. _"Please_."

"Stay away from me," he snarled. "Tell whoever sent you, whatever newspaper—"

"No one sent me," she insisted. "I _know_ him."

"You don't know him. You can't know him."

"James Buchanan Barnes—"

"Congratulations, you passed middle school history," he said flatly. Who know he had a snarky side?

"Call him," she begged. " _Please_ call him. They—they took my sister—"

"Who—"

"Hydra took her and they took her because of him!" She was shouting now, and shoved his arm away from her. "She helped him and _he left her_! _I need him to get her back!"_ She sounded frantic, even to her own ears. "Call him," she demanded. "He'll tell you. Call him!"

"I'm not going to—"

She was desperate. She needed to prove it, somehow. "They attacked us," she babbled, on the verge of tears. "He was staying with us—my sister brought him home, she was trying to help him, and they came after us, and he left and I woke up in the hospital and they took her and I need his help, _please_ just call him, please—she's only seven and—and—"

He was looking at her face now, brow furrowed, taking in the bruises and cuts. Exasperated, she reached for a phone and did a quick Google search on herself. She thrust it at him. _Anonymous 911 call leads police to a grizzly find: 24-year-old Petunia Ortiz found tortured and unconscious in her home; 7-year-old sister, Daisy, missing. There is still no word on a suspect or a motive for the heinous crime…_

She knew there was a picture of her, and of her missing sister.

"This—this doesn't prove anything," the Captain said, and she rolled her eyes.

"I know he's here," she said. "I know he's with you—he wasn't doing so well, he was having a hard time remembering anything but he was thinking about finding you or—or I think he said _letting you find him_ —"

The Captain's face stilled a little and he swallowed. This wasn't working, she thought. She had to say something, think of something that would convince him, but—

It hit her. It was the whole reason they had found him in the first place.

"Wait," she said, her eyes widening. "He—on the back of his neck, right under his skull, he has a scar, right? A recent one." She watched the Captain's face. She could tell he was thinking. Maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe he didn't even know about the scar. "He—I did that to him," she said. "He had a tracking device and we—we were surprised, because we thought the tracker would have been in the vibranium arm, but it wasn't, it was in his neck, and so I dug it out for him—"

The Captain's eyes were very still, calculating. If he knew about the scar, she thought, there would be no denying it. The scar was new, fresh—no one would know it was there. She watched his face carefully. "You know the spot, right? You saw it?"

He shook his head. Her heart sank, but he was clearly still thinking. Something else was going on.

"Who are you?"

"I'm not a threat," she said. "Search me, if you want. I don't have any weapons, no wires, I'm not working for anyone, I just—he fucked us over, Captain, and I need him to get my sister back. Please."

He stared at her, long and hard, and she couldn't do this much longer before she went to pieces, on her knees, begging him for help.

"Turn around," he ordered, and she obeyed, raising her arms as he patted her down thoroughly. She had no weapons, and when she turned around he was on his phone.

"Are you calling him?" she asked.

"No," he said sharply, but he raised his phone to his ear, never taking his eyes off of her as he spoke. "Hi—yeah, I know it's early, but it might be important. I need you to check someone out for me. Petunia Ortiz. Yes, _now_."

It was quiet for a moment and she held his gaze, staring him down as the silence lingered. Finally, the person on the other end spoke again and Steve, satisfied, thanked them and hung up. He raised an eyebrow.

"Drunk in public?"

"What? That was years ago, I—" He was shaking his head. "Please," she said, stepping forward. "Just call him. I'm not here to hurt anyone or reveal him, I just—my sister—" She was crying now, in spite of her efforts to contain it. She was shaking. His eyes scanned her face again and he shook his head slowly. He clutched his phone. His eyes were still angry, defensive, like he didn't quite believe her.

"If you're lying—"

"If I'm lying, I'm dead." She took a breath. "Send him to kill me. He's good at that sort of thing." Steve's eyes flashed. He tapped the screen on his phone and held it between them; it was on speaker. It rang and rang, and her nerves were fried.

"Don't speak," Steve warned her, and she sealed her lips. Finally, he answered; it stopped ringing but he didn't say anything.

"Hey," Steve said, and his voice was oddly gentle, soothing. "Question for you." He stared Pet down, licked his lips. "Do you happen to know a young woman named Petunia Ortiz?"

The silence seemed to go on and on. She was shaking. Her stomach was in knots. Finally, he spoke, the ragged, tired voice on the other end of the line familiar.

"I—" he paused. " _What?_ "

"Petunia Ortiz."

There was another long silence. She wanted to scream.

"Is… She's not dead, is she?"

"Not exactly," Steve said. "So you know her?"

"Pet? Yeah, she, uh—yeah, I know Pet. What's going on?"

She looked from the phone to Steve, her fists clenching. She spoke; she couldn't contain it anymore.

"They took Daisy," she said, snatching the phone, and he let her have it.

" _Pet?_ " he sounded shocked. Steve looked shocked.

"You left us," Pet said, her tone wavering, her voice betrayed. It was all coming back—the fear, the betrayal. _"You left us with them_."

"What did you want me to do?" he countered. "You sold me out."

"I—I risked my life for you," she snarled. " _I lied for you_ , I risked _everything_ for you and you _left_." Tears coursed down her cheeks. "She _loved you_ , Barnes, she _adored_ you. I let you in my home, I fed you and gave you a place to sleep and I was tortured for you—"

"Pet—"

"And how _dare_ you assume I sold you out?"

"I heard—"

"You couldn't stick around long enough," she spit. "I lied. I lied, and they went looking for you and they came back when they figured out I lied and _you weren't there_. Where were you?" Her voice broke. Steve looked lost, but his face was a mix of shock and something like sympathy. He looked upset, confused. She couldn't go on. She covered her face with her hands and tossed the phone at Steve; he caught it and was speaking to Barnes.

"What is going on?"

"I'll explain," Barnes said. "Just—just bring her here. You can trust her."

He hung up. Steve looked at her as she struggled to compose herself, but she was nearly inconsolable. There was so much she needed to say to him—she wasn't anywhere near done yet. Steve, of course, was completely lost.

"I need an explanation," he said, as he grabbed her a little too roughly and guided her out of the park. She was very aware that he wasn't bothering to confuse her or keep her from figuring out the way to their home, and when she questioned it all he said was:

"Bucky trusts you."

 **Xxxxxxx**

It was one of the strangest things Steve had seen. Bucky, who, as far as he knew, had no friends, no affiliates outside of Hydra; Bucky, who had been silent about his time between leaving Hydra and being found—or letting Steve find him, as he had said; Bucky, who spent most days silent, closed off, lost in his head, was standing, towering over the battered woman, and that woman was staring up at him with all of God's wrath behind her eyes.

Sam was clueless, but he sat back when Bucky informed them that he could handle it. So Steve watched the exchange tensely, head spinning. Bucky _knew_ this woman. He didn't hardly speak to Sam _or_ Steve, but here he was, letting this woman shout at him, nearly flinching at her words, fighting back. It was the most animated either of them had seen him.

"Pet—"

"She's gone," Pet was saying, "they took her. You said you wouldn't let them hurt her."

"I thought—"

"I wouldn't do that to you. Christ, Barnes. After everything—after what they did to you, you thought I'd hand you over to them?"

"Pet."

She shoved him. He looked distraught, and he must have been because he stumbled back as she shoved him, hard, in the chest. Then she shoved him again, and he let her. Steve remembered when he had found him, his arm caught up in a machine like he'd been trying to disconnect it from his body and had gotten trapped.

 _Help me_ , he had said.

"Alright, alright, enough," Sam said, standing. Pet looked at him, slumped against a wall. She kept favoring one shoulder, Steve noticed.

"Yeah," Steve said, flanking him. He looked at Bucky. "What in the hell is going on?"

 **AN:** The story will be told, form here on out, mostly from Bucky's perspective. It'll be going back and filling us in on what led everyone to this point and then moving forward once we get to present day.

Review, please! :)


	2. Chapter 1

The small, rural town in upstate New York was just what he needed. There weren't too many people; he would be left alone. It was quiet, the buzzing streets and blaring horns left far behind him. He needed the quiet. The bustling city of New York was too much for him to handle; this isolation was a balm on his worn nerves. He still didn't know who he was. He didn't know much of anything, really, and he needed to decompress. Here, he could wander for days and not be found. There were few prying eyes.

Steve Rogers. The name meant something to him, he thought, but he didn't feel anything when he thought about the name aside from an uncomfortable lurch in his gut. He hadn't spent long at the Smithsonian; just long enough to read up on the exhibit, which had only made things more jumbled in his head, so he had left it far behind. He just needed to get oriented; he needed time, but he didn't know what to do. He had never been awake this long. He had never been on his own this long, without someone watching over him, giving him orders.

Before, every aspect of his life had been mapped out; he had lived on a strict schedule whenever he was awake. That structure was gone, now, and he wasn't quite sure what, exactly, to do. He knew that he was hungry, but before he had only ever been fed through tubes and occasional MREs when out on a mission, and he didn't have any of those now. His body was growing fatigued, and he wasn't used to it; he had never felt this before, never felt weak or tired. This was something new to him.

He had wandered into a park and sat on a bench. There were a few people around, more than he had seen since coming here. Some walked their dogs, others walked with children, some were lovers who strolled past him. All of them ignored him, like he made them uncomfortable; they avoided eye contact, which was just fine by him. He was confused, then, when one couple came by and offered him some loose change; he had just stared up at them, without speaking, until they left it on the bench beside him and hurried away. He had picked the change up and pocketed it a while later.

Presently, he sat in that same spot; he hadn't moved all day, and it was getting later. The air was growing cool and crisp, tangling in his greasy, unwashed hair, mostly stuffed up in a ball cap. His beard itched; he couldn't remember it having ever gotten this long, but that wasn't saying much. He couldn't remember much of anything past a few weeks ago.

He noticed the little girl as soon as she entered his field of vision, so her presence itself didn't startle him. What caught him off guard, however, was the child's watchful eyes, the way she tilted her head at him a little as she came closer, watching his face; were children normally so observant? He wasn't worried; his metal hand was stuffed in his pocket, as it was a pretty big indicator of who he was—not that he knew, himself, but he felt it best to hide that. The girl came closer, and he expected her to walk past him the same way everyone else had, but she didn't.

It was the first time she had surprised him.

She came right up and sat on the bench beside him, pulling her backpack onto her lap, swinging her legs. He avoided looking at her—she was really of no interest to him—but he felt her eyes on him. Still, he ignored her.

"Hi," she finally said. He didn't respond. He didn't move an inch. She kept watching him, and after a few moments, she said: "I'm Daisy." She seemed to wait expectantly for him to respond, but he didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't even sure if he could. Finally, she sighed, still kicking her legs.

"That's okay," she said. "You don't have to tell me your name. I already know who you are." At this, he finally looked at her, and when she looked at his face she giggled. He didn't know what was funny, but she was still giggling. It made him uncomfortable. His eyebrows drew down and she smiled sweetly at him.

"It's okay," she said, lowering her voice to a conspirator's whisper. "I won't tell anyone."

"You—know me?" His voice came out a croak from lack of use. He was confused. Did he know her? How did he know her? Who was she?

"Of course," she said brightly. But then she tilted her head slightly, a slight pout taking over her lips. "You're Bucky Barnes, right?"

He flinched. There it was again, that name. It made his head hurt. _Who was Bucky?_

"I—I don't know," he said lowly, and she giggled again.

"That's silly," she said. She scooted closer, peering into his face, and he drew back. "Yep, it's you," she said. "You have a beard now, but _I_ know it's you." She seemed proud. "You were always my favorite."

Her favorite? Her favorite _what?_

"How—how do you know me?"

"School," she chirped matter-of-factly, going back to swinging her legs. "Everyone learns about you. You and Captain America, but I always liked you best. Jordan always wants to be Captain America on the playground, but not me. I'm always you." She smiled at him again. The name, Captain America, there it was again. He knew that he knew him. He knew they had been friends. He knew the facts, but anything deeper than that…

"And right now you're on TV," she blabbered on. "Everyone's looking for you. They say you're bad." She looked at him, her eyes darker now, and she looked mildly upset. He swallowed. Who was looking for him? Hydra, no doubt. "But it's not true, what they say," she said, looking at him intently. "You're Captain America's best friend, so you _can't_ be bad. Right?"

"I—I don't know."

She just shrugged. Then she wrinkled her nose. "Why are you so smelly? Why is your face so hairy?" He didn't know how to answer her questions, so he just stared at her, trying to make some sense out of what she had been telling him. She had learned about him in school? What had she learned? She started giggling again, tilting her head back a little. "You have a funny face," she said. "You're _weird_."

"Why did you learn about me?"

"Be _cause_ ," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're a hero! Or you _were_ , before."

"Before what?"

"Don't you know anything?" She asked, raising one eyebrow. He shook his head, wondering why he was even still talking to her. She heaved a great sigh. "I can bring you one of my books," she said eagerly. "I have a lot of them."

"Books?"

"Yeah," she said. "I love books. They're about you."

She had books about _him?_ Part of him was eager, part of him craved the information he might find, and he found himself nodding.

"Are you _okay?"_ Her voice was suspicious now. He wasn't sure if he was or not, so he didn't respond. "Are you lost?" Again, he didn't respond, and her chin jutted out and she looked frustrated. She crossed her arms. "It's rude to not answer, you know."

He gave her an odd look. She had no idea who she was speaking to. There she was, an innocent-looking little girl with big brown eyes and long brown hair, sitting next to Hydra's greatest weapon, chastising him for being rude.

"You should leave," he told her suddenly.

"Why?"

"Because," he said. "I—I'm bad."

"No you're not," she said lightly. She had dimples when she smiled. His stomach growled loudly and she looked startled, her brown eyes going wide, and then she burst into a fit of giggles. He didn't understand what was so funny, but when she looked at his face she laughed a little more. It took her a few minutes to calm down.

"Someone's hungry," she said. Then she was digging through her backpack. She pulled out a little baggie, and inside of it was half of a limp-looking blob of _something_. She handed it to him and he stared at it as she watched him intently. Finally, he just looked at her.

"It's peanut butter and jelly," she said. "It's my favorite. My sister, Pet, she makes the _best_ peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I've ever had, and I've had a lot. I think it's because she makes them with grape jelly. Do you like grape jelly?"

"I don't know."

"You _don't_ know anything," she mumbled. "It's okay, you can have it, I ate the other half at lunch. Try it! It's good, I promise."

His stomach growled again and he pulled the sticky sandwich out. He stared at it and sniffed it and she giggled. "It's not _poison_ ," she laughed, and finally he took a bite. It wasn't like anything he could remember having tried before. It was strange, sweet and sticky, and he found himself wrinkling his nose as she offered him an unopened bottle of water. He washed it down. It was good, he supposed.

"Go ahead and finish," she said, smiling widely. She jumped up from her spot beside him, slinging her sparkly backpack over her shoulder. "I should go," she said. "I'll bring you the books tomorrow, okay?"

He was shaking his head. "Don't come back."

"Why not?" she looked hurt.

"I'm bad," he said. "I don't remember, but I know I'm bad."

"You're not," she said. "I'll help you remember. I did two reports on you last year!" She looked so proud. "I'll come right back here tomorrow, okay? I'll give you the books."

"Don't—" he hesitated. He wanted that information so badly. "Don't—tell anyone," he amended.

"Are you hiding?" He nodded stiffly. "Secret spy stuff, right? Okay, I won't tell." She waved happily at him, then. "Bye, Bucky!" She sang, and he flinched at the name and she hurried off, leaving him behind with the meager sandwich and the water bottle.

* * *

It was the next morning, and Pet had overslept. She was darting frantically around the kitchen while Daisy sat at the table, waiting patiently, hands folded, her backpack strapped over the back of the chair. The toast was burning, she could smell it. She spun around and popped it out, slathering it with butter too roughly, so the bread bunched and rolled beneath the knife.

"Crap," she said.

"It's okay!" Daisy said. "I like it like that!"

"No, you don't," Pet muttered, throwing it away and trying again. Then she remembered the eggs. She seized them off the fire and hurried over to Daisy, dumping them on her plate.

"Don't you want any?"

"No, no, no," Pet said hurriedly. "All for you, princess."

This time, she snatched the toast before it burned and plopped it on Daisy's plate, but she didn't realize until Daisy had taken a bite that she had forgotten the butter, so she stole it back, buttered it, and handed it back to her sister, who was smiling.

"Lunch," Pet said, wiping her hands. She grabbed the turkey from the fridge and piled it on the bread, adding mayonnaise and mustard, cutting off the crusts and slicing it diagonally because Daisy would only eat it if it was cut diagonally.

"Pet?" Daisy called from the table.

"What's up?" she asked, trying her best not to seem distracted, but she was, oh, she was losing her mind this morning. She was already late for work. Daisy couldn't be late for school, not again, not twice in the same week. Pet couldn't do another talk with that awful teacher, she just couldn't.

"Do you think I could have two sandwiches today?"

Pet stopped. " _Two?_ " she asked. " _Ay,_ _cariña,_ you never even finish _one_ sandwich."

"I made a new friend," Daisy said, and this caught Pet's attention. This was news. Daisy had trouble making friends. She was smart, so smart, and she was sweet, and she had a good heart, but she just had trouble in the whole _friend_ area.

"A new friend? Who?"

"Just a boy," Daisy said. "He doesn't have a lot—yesterday he was hungry and he didn't have lunch, so I thought I could bring extra today. Just in case."

 _Two it is,_ Pet thought. "What's his name?"

"James," Daisy said.

"Is he in your class?"

"No," Daisy replied as Pet finished the sandwich. She grabbed two separate brown bags, wrote _Daisy_ on one and _James_ on the other, then filled them and carried them over to Daisy's backpack.

"Listen to me, Daisy," Pet said. "This is very important. I made you _two_ lunches, okay? _Only_ give one to James if he doesn't have anything. Don't offer it to him. This is very important. You don't want to hurt his feelings."

"Okay," Daisy chirped, and Pet dropped to one knee and looked her in the eyes.

"Repeat what I said, Daisy, _it's important_."

"Only give James his lunch if he doesn't have one," she said. "Don't offer."

"Very good," Pet said, kissing her forehead. "You ready to go, princess?"

Daisy took a huge bite of her bread, filled her mouth with orange juice, and nodded, her cheeks bulging.

" _Chew_ your food, please," Pet sighed, and Daisy swallowed and giggled. Now that Pet thought about it, Daisy did seem to be in a better mood than she normally was, going to school. "Grab your backpack. Got your homework? Got your key?"

"Yes and yes," Daisy sang.

"Alright, to the car!" Pet cried, pretending to race her squealing sister to the car. They piled in. Fifteen minutes late for work, Pet thought with a grimace as she backed out of the driveway. But there was still time to get Daisy to school, which, thankfully, was only just down the road. Daisy sang along to the radio as they drove, and Pet was still stressed, her mind rushing around.

Three years, she thought, and sometimes it seemed like she wasn't getting any better at this parenting thing. They made it to school just in time and Daisy went off, running to her class. Pet noticed one of the office aids, and they locked eyes before the older woman just shook her head. Apparently, she thought darkly, other people also had noticed she wasn't improving, much. But this was all they knew—they'd never even met their parents; they'd died when Daisy was four, just in time for kindergarten to start. They should have been used to this by now.

"Breathe, Pet, breathe," she urged herself. The veterinary clinic was only five minutes away, if she broke the speed limit, which she fully intended to do. It could be worse. Things would be okay—it was just a rough morning. But she had the distinct feeling that this was just a warning, and that the day would not be improving any time soon.

 **AN: Let me know what you think? Just so you know,** _ **cariña,**_ **in Spanish, means darling/dear/sweetheart, etc. I'm really excited about the amount of reviews chapter 1 got, so let's, keep that going! Looking forward to hearing from you!**


	3. Chapter 2

She came back, just like she had promised. He'd have been lying if he said he wasn't hoping that she would come back, so he found himself waiting on the same bench where she'd left him yesterday and, soon enough, Daisy came wandering toward him. He watched as she spotted him, her eyes sparkling and a gigantic smile taking over her face as she hurried over, backpack bouncing wildly.

"Hi," she gasped, sitting beside him. "Are you hungry? I brought you more food." Already, she had reached into her backpack and pulled out a little brown paper bag that said _James_ , scrawled in loopy, cutesy writing. There was even a little heart drawn in the tail of the _s_ to finish it off. He stared at it before looking back at her.

"James," he said.

"Yeah," Daisy chirped. "That's your real name. _James Buchanan Barnes_." He flinched. It stirred something inside of him. "Your nickname is Bucky, though."

"Stop—stop saying that," he rasped.

"Sorry," she said, looking a little confused, but she seemed to shrug it off. "Look inside your lunch! My sister made it for you."

"Did you tell her—?"

"Nope," she said, popping her lips again on the _p_. "She thinks you're a boy in my class."

He was grateful that she had thought enough to bring him food. He needed it. His body had burned off that sandwich in what seemed like minutes. He emptied the contents out on his lap: a full meat sandwich, a juice box (this confused him. He had never seen anything like it.), and two soft cookies in a bag.

"She made those last night," Daisy said. "They're chocolate chip. I love when she makes cookies. The sandwich is turkey."

He didn't much care what any of it was, as long as it would make the pain in his stomach go away. He dug in, ravenous, and Daisy wrinkled her nose at him. He fumbled with the juice box and eventually just tore the top off. It was a little too sweet for his liking; he wasn't used to sweets, but he wouldn't be turning it down, either.

"You know," Daisy said slowly as he ate. "Sometimes, it's nice to say thank you." He stopped chewing and looked at her slowly. She smiled. "You have crumbs on your face. There's a napkin in there, too."

He wiped his face. "Thank you," he added gruffly. She didn't speak as he finished the food, and when he was done he looked at her sharply. She took his trash and walked it over to a trashcan.

"Did you bring the books?" he asked when she came back.

"Yes," she said, hugging her backpack to herself.

"Give them to me."

"You could ask nicely," she said mildly.

"Give them to me _now_ ," he said more forcefully, and her nose wrinkled and her mouth pinched up.

"Say _please_."

"No," he said sharply.

"It's just being _polite_ ," she said. "Always say please and thank you."

Something about that sounded familiar, like someone, somewhere, had told him before. He scratched at his beard.

" _Please_ ," he said darkly, "give me the books."

She smiled and bobbed her head in approval, handing them to him. There were two books, neither of them awfully large, and he clutched them like a lifeline. One of them was called _A History: Captain America and the Howling Commandoes_ , and the other was _Bucky Barnes: A Biography._ The first one had a picture of a group of soldiers on the inside. Daisy pointed at one of them.

"That's Captain America," she said. "This one's you. Here, let me see the other book." She took it as he stared at the photograph, and then she placed the other book on top. This one was an ID photo, a young man staring straight ahead. "This is you," she said. She looked up at him, squinted at his face. "You look a little different, but that's okay."

Did he? He didn't even know what he looked like. He couldn't remember. He hadn't ever looked in a mirror when he was with Hydra. He'd never ever been in contact with one. He traced two fingers over what she had said was his face, trying to put the pieces together, but he was getting nothing. He was suddenly desperate to tear into the books and read as much as he could, and he flipped to the first page, then glanced at Daisy.

"Go away," he said.

"You're not very nice," she quipped. "We need to fix that."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You've done your duty," he tried again. "Mission accomplished. Go, and don't come back."

She giggled at this. "You're funny," she said.

"I want to be alone." She stared at him expectantly and he sighed. "I want to be alone _please_."

She hopped off the bench. "Okay," she said. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay? We can see if you remember anything!"

"Don't come back," he hissed again. "I'm bad, kid, stay away."

"No, you're not," she said, like she was so sure, like she didn't have a care in the world. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"No—"

"Bye, Bucky!" She sang, and he flinched and looked around and she giggled. "Sorry," she laughed. "Top secret. I forgot." She placed a finger over her lips, still giggling, and he rolled his eyes. She twirled away and he watched her go, and he settled into the books, losing himself in them immediately. They told stories, listed facts, but they were just that: facts. He knew all sorts of facts about himself, his life, who he had been, but he felt nothing about them. He didn't _remember_. It was frustrating, and he read through the night.

The next day, he stayed away from the bench, instead lurking behind a tree, watching to see if she would come back in spite of his warning. She did, of course, and he watched as she sat and waited for a while. Then she looked puzzled, got up, looked around.

" _Bucky_ ," she hissed. "I'm here. Come out." He didn't budge, and she started to look worried. She was actively searching for him now, and he groaned. "I brought you more lunch," she called, and this piqued his interest. He bit his lip. He hadn't eaten since he'd seen her yesterday. She pulled the food out of her backpack and shook the brown paper bag. "It's peanut butter and jelly again!"

He stayed where he was, and she looked really worried now, upset.

" _Bucky!"_ she cried, and his jaw clenched. He needed her to stop screaming his name. _"Buck—"_

"Be quiet," he hissed, stepping out from his hiding spot, and her eyes flew wide and she beamed.

"There you are! Why were you hiding?"

"I wasn't," he snapped. "Give me the food."

She raised an eyebrow.

" _Please_." She handed it to him and stared him down expectantly. "Thank you," he mumbled, and she sat on the bench and patted the spot beside her imperiously. He sat, slumped, and she winkled her nose.

"You really do stink," she said. "You need a bath." He ignored her. "Did you read the books?" He'd finished them both and he tugged them out from beneath his sweatshirt, handing them to her. She shook her head. "Keep them," she said. "Did they help you? Do you remember, now?"

"No," he said, chewing the sandwich. This, he liked. This was very good. Daisy pouted, crossing her arms, thinking. He ignored her. She swung her legs to and fro, humming an annoying song that soon had him grinding his teeth. He took a deep breath, struggling for patience.

"Maybe…" she said slowly, "you should read them again? Oh—I know! I have videos! We could watch those, if I bring my computer—"

"I don't think it's gonna help, kid," he said, surprised at how much he was talking, but it felt good. "I'm broken. It's all gone. They wiped it out."

"Who?"

"The—bad people." He knew they were bad, at least. He'd read about the experimentations they had done on him. He was angry. Violated. Daisy was quiet and he looked at her and she looked infinitely sad.

"Was it Hydra?" she asked softly, and hearing the name spoken aloud was enough to make his stomach twitch.

"Yeah," he said, looking away, staring at his hands. He flexed the metal one. "Yeah, it was." Then he looked at her seriously. "That's why you need to go away, Daisy. If they find you, they'll hurt you." She looked frightened.

"Will they hurt _you?_ " she asked softly, and he nodded slowly. "I won't let them," she said. "I'll help you remember, and then you can fight them. I won't let them get you."

He wanted to tell her that she was crazy, but there was such ferocity in her eyes that he couldn't bring himself to do it. But he was afraid for her. If they were around, if they noticed that she was anywhere near him, they could come for her and he couldn't let that happen.

"I'm serious, Daisy," he said. "You're in danger around me."

"But if I stop coming," she said slowly, "who will feed you?"

The question caught him off guard. "I can," he said lamely. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're a homeless guy," she said. "You don't have _money_."

"Maybe I do."

"You _don't_."

"Fine, then I'll steal."

"You can't do that," she cried. "I'm supposed to teach you to be _good_ , and good people don't _steal!_ "

He blew out a breath. She was watching him carefully.

"Just go home, Daisy," he said, and she stood and grabbed her backpack. She still looked a little upset and she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry you can't remember," she said softly. "But I'll help you, okay? We'll make you good again. Together."

He shook his head and she wandered away, waving goodbye, and he told himself he wouldn't come back to this spot. The next day he stayed away, watching her in secret. The kid actually waited for him for a full hour before she gave up and left, but he noticed she left a brown paper lunch bag on the bench, _James_ written across the front. Then she wrote a little note and stuck it beneath the bag. When he was sure she was gone, he sighed and walked over to the bench, taking the bag and note.

 _Dear Bucky,  
I hope you're okay and the bad people didn't get you. I left food for you. It's PBnJ again. I'll come back tomorrow. _

_I miss you._

 _Love,  
Daisy_

"God damn it," he muttered, scooping up the bag and pocketing the note. He caught up to her quietly and followed her home, just to make sure she got home safe, before returning to the park, eating the food, and falling asleep on the bench. Sure enough, the next day, she came back and she squealed when she saw him, darting up to him. She looked like she was about to hug him, but stopped herself when he visibly tensed.

"Bucky! I missed you! Where were you?"

"Doing spy stuff," he said, and her eyes got big like saucers and he almost laughed.

"Do you remember anything?"

"Nope."

And so this went on for a couple of weeks. She would come to him, ask if he remembered. They would talk, she would give him a lesson about being nice, and she would urge him to take a bath and she would feed him and then she would be on her way. She started telling him stories about school. The poor kid didn't have any friends and she got picked on a lot, and that, of all things, that one small fact caused a surge of protectiveness to flare up in his chest. It made him angry and his fist had clenched and she had calmed him down, confused, and he was so angry because who would pick on a kid like Daisy?

He'd taken to walking her home, stopping a little ways away, never coming onto their property. Sometimes, if he was really bored, he would watch their house at night, just to make sure no one had noticed she was around him, just to make sure she wasn't in danger. The human contact, even from a child, was something he hadn't realized he'd been craving. He'd started waiting for her, and on days when she took a little longer than normal to come to him, he would grow worried. One day, she came to him, fighting back tears, with a bloody scrape on one knee. The bloody knee had actually caused memories to resurface as she'd sat on the bench and he'd examined it.

"Who did this?" he asked, but he was in two places at once. Here, with Daisy, and somewhere else, another time, with a small, scrawny kid with bloody knees.

"Stupid Jordan," she said bitterly. Oh, she was trying so hard not to cry. "He pushed me."

"Why would he do that?"

"He just likes to be mean to me," she said softly, her lower lip quivering dangerously, and he was alarmed.

"Here," he said, uncapping his water bottle and rinsing the shallow scrape, picking the gravel out. She hissed a little, but thanked him when the scrape was clean.

"Hey," she said after a few moments of silence. "That was a nice thing, and you did it yourself!"

He didn't respond. He was considering teaching her how to punch.

"Do you know how to fight back, Daisy?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Want me to show you? One punch and Stupid Jordan will never mess with you again."

She hesitated, then she nodded, avoiding eye contact. And so he showed her, just the very basics, and had her punch his hand a few times. He gave her a couple of tips, how to stand, where to hit, just to get the bully to leave her alone, and she'd been smiling when he'd walked her home. She'd tried to hold his metal hand on the walk back, but he flinched away.

"I've done bad things with that hand, Daisy," he said, so she just switched to his other hand and held that one, instead, and then that became their routine. She would hold his hand as he walked her home.

Four days later, she came back with freshly scraped knees, but she looked proud of herself.

"I showed that Stupid Jordan," she said, and he almost smiled. She balled her hand into a fist, looking triumphant. Then her face fell a little. "But," she said sadly, "I might not be back tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I have a parent-teacher meeting with my sister and Miss Anne," Daisy mumbled. "Because I made Stupid Jordan's nose bleed."

"What!" Bucky growled. "Stupid Jordan deserved it."

"I know, but hitting's not allowed."

"But he hit you first."

"That's what I said!" She cried, sounding deeply wronged. "Pet's going to be mad at me."

"Maybe I should go to that meeting," he said, and he found himself smirking and she smiled.

"You made a joke," she said brightly, and he shrugged one shoulder and they started their walk home.

"Well," he said, slowing to a stop, looking around, making sure there were no lurking dangers. "Guess I'll see you around, kid. Good luck at that meeting. Don't take anyone's shit."

"That's a _bad word_ ," she chastised, and he found himself smirking again. Then she clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at him shyly, and she motioned him down and he stooped to her level, dropping to one knee, which he'd found himself doing a lot lately when he talked to her. She smiled sweetly at him, leaned in, and pecked his dirty, scruffy cheek. He stiffened and she wrapped him in a tight hug, which he didn't return. He felt trapped, alarmed.

"Thanks, Bucky," she said warmly.

"Daisy," he said. "Daisy—I've killed people."

It was one of the few things he knew to be true.

She squeezed him a little tighter.

"So many people, Daisy."

"Bye, Bucky," she said, drawing away from him. "I'll see you soon, okay? Remember to eat. And take a bath!"

* * *

Pet was on her break, checking her phone, when she noticed the missed call from Miss Anne, Daisy's teacher. She screwed her mouth to one side, sighed, and plopped herself down. She prayed for patience; after having nearly been bitten by a testy raccoon and after having had to fight it back into it's cage, she wasn't in the mood for Miss Anne's shit today.

She listened to the voicemail and found herself groaning, her body drooping.

" _Hi, Petunia,_ " Miss Anne said, her voice sickly sweet. Pet hated her full name, and this automatically grated on her nerves. " _I need to see you in my class tomorrow after school. We had an incident with Daisy, today – she hit a boy in the face today and made his nose bleed, and this behavior is unacceptable and, frankly, alarming coming form her. Please be sure to see me tomorrow."_

"I hope it was that stupid Jordan kid," Pet muttered. She wasn't sure how to handle this. On the one hand, she was damn proud of her sister for standing up for herself, finally, but on the other Miss Anne was right. Daisy wasn't violent by any means, and this was extremely out of character. When she got home that afternoon, she cornered Daisy, who looked very, very guilty as soon as Pet had come through the door.

"So," Pet said. "Anything happen in school today?"

"Um, no," Daisy said, biting her lip, and Pet narrowed her eyes.

"You sure about that?"

"Yep."

"That's funny," Pet said, "because I got a call from Miss Anne and she said you hit a kid today and made him bleed?" It was _so hard_ not to smile. She had to bite her lip, hard, to keep herself in check. "Wanna change your answer? You know how I feel about lying."

Daisy sighed, avoiding Pet's eyes. "Stupid Jordan pushed me again so I hit him back this time."

Pet covered her mouth with her hand so Daisy couldn't see her smile. _Thank God_ , she thought, _the little bastard had it coming_.

"Since when do we hit people, Dai?"

"He wouldn't leave me alone," Daisy mumbled. "And James said if I hit him once he wouldn't pick on my anymore, so I tried it."

"Wait—James told you to hit him?"

"Yes." Daisy hung her head. Pet wasn't sure about this; James might be a bad influence if that were the case. Pet sighed.

"Well," she said. "Maybe we shouldn't hit people." Daisy looked up at her with big brown eyes, threatening to spill over.

"I'm sorry."

"You—" Just say it, Pet. Be an adult. Crime and punishment. "I want you to—to go to your room."

"Okay," Daisy surrendered, and that just made it worse. Daisy wasn't a bad kid. Pet hardly ever had to send her to her room.

"But not because you hit that kid," Pet said. "Because you lied about it."

Daisy looked like a kicked puppy. She nodded and hung her head, the tears finally spilling over. This was awful. Daisy sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

"Okay," Daisy said again. She stepped into Pet, who was down on her knees in front of her sister, and gave her a hug, burying her face in her shoulder. Pet melted. "I'm sorry, Pet."

"You don't have to apologize to me," Pet said weakly.

"You're going to see Miss Anne, aren't you? I don't want her to yell at you like she always does." It was true. It was hard not to feel like a chastised child when you were in a conference with Miss Anne. "I'll try to be good."

"Aw, Daisy," Pet moaned, squeezing her sister. "You are good. You're the best. Don't you ever forget that." They separated and Pet gave her a little squeeze. "To your room, okay?"

* * *

Pet couldn't do it anymore. She felt awful. A little over an hour had passed and she found herself scooping out ice cream, berating herself: _You are an awful parent. You are weak_. But she just couldn't. She filled two bowls with rocky road, left them on the counter, and headed up to Daisy's room. She knocked and opened the door, poking her head in. Daisy was sitting on the bed, reading, and Pet sat down beside her.

"Hey, princess," she said, and Daisy closed her comic book: a Captain America one, as usual. "Which one is this?" She tapped the comic.

"The one where Captain America and Bucky punch Hitler."

"Ah," Pet said. "More punching. Sounds exciting." Daisy giggled a little. Pet ruffled her hair and tugged on her hand, standing. "Why don't you come on out? I've got ice cream. Your favorite."

"I thought I was in trouble."

"I figured you did your time," Pet allowed, shrugging. "Now we can celebrate."

Daisy looked confused. "Celebrate?"

"Yeah," Pet said, grinning wickedly. "That Jordan finally got what he deserved."

Daisy smiled timidly and Pet picked her up and raced down the hall, Daisy shrieking with laughter.

 **AN: What do you think of Bucky and Daisy's bond? They're so much fun to write! And how do you guys feel about Pet? I'll get more into her character soon, but initial thoughts? Thanks! Loving the reviews from everyone!**


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: A review mentioned seeing a Lilo & Stitch parallel, with Bucky being Stitch and I hadn't thought of it that way before, but now… well, I'm laughing! It's so perfect! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews!**

Pet had never liked Miss Anne, the so-sweet-she'll-give-you-cavities third grade teacher. It was strange, in a way: Pet and Miss Anne were the same age, but they lived two very different lives. Miss Anne was a third grade teacher; she spent her days dealing with snotty kids, grading their schoolwork, helping to shape their lives. Pet was a veterinarian; she spent her days with cats and dogs and the occasional exotic animal (see: testy raccoon from the previous day). When she came home, she had a kid to raise; she was busy shaping _one_ life, the best that she could, and she wasn't sure Miss Anne understood that.

 _Especially_ not when she talked to Pet this way.

"Look," Miss Anne said, and Pet could feel her eyes wanting to roll into the back of her head. "I know your situation is incredibly difficult. I couldn't imagine it. But Daisy's behavior is—well, it's upsetting, to be honest."

"And what about that Jordan kid?" Pet asked, sitting on a desk in front of Miss Anne. "Have you ever had his parents in here after he pushes Daisy?"

Miss Anne just smiled at this. "This is about _Daisy_ , Petunia, not Jordan." Pet's upper lip twitched. "We do not condone violence here, and I want to make sure you're taking the proper action to ensure this doesn't happen again."

"Don't tell me how to raise my kid," Pet said waspishly. She always felt like she was being scolded by Miss Anne, which was absurd, considering they were the same age. "We're doing fine."

"Are you?" Miss Anne's brow creased and she tilted her head, looking oh-so-concerned. Pet looked at her flatly. "Because Daisy has _never_ acted out like this—"

"She just stood up for herself—"

"And it's normally not a good indicator, when kids start acting out. Also, I find your lack of… _concern_ about the situation to be, well, concerning."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Alright," Miss Anne said. "I know your situation is hard. But it's been _three years_. I'm just looking out for Daisy."

An angry lump formed in Pet's throat. She stood abruptly and Miss Anne looked placidly up at her. "Excuse you? She's _mine_. I'm looking out for her just fine."

"Are you? How's she doing, then? Really?"

"She's perfect," Pet snapped. "The best kid. Smart, sweet, _kind_. It's that new kid she's been hanging out with. I'll figure it out."

"New kid?" Miss Anne asked, tilting her head, looking perplexed. She laced her fingers together.

"Yeah, she's got a new friend. She says he's the one who told her hit Jordan—who, while we're at it, got what he deserved. You _know_ he's been picking on her—"

"Wait," Miss Anne said, raising one hand to silence Pet, who put her hands on her hips at the gesture. Who did she think she was talking to? "What are you talking about? I haven't noticed Daisy hanging out with anyone new."

Pet blinked. "James," she said.

"I don't have a student named James, Pet, and neither does Mr. Garcia."

"But—" Pet's mouth went momentarily dry. She cleared her throat. "But she won't shut up about this kid."

"Maybe…" Miss Anne hesitated, still with that stupid concerned look. Pet wanted to claw it off her face. "Maybe James is imaginary? It'd perfectly common at this age, especially for someone in her _situation_."

Pet felt a little flare of irritation. "I've been making the imaginary bastard _lunches_ ," Pet grumbled. It didn't make sense. Daisy had never had an imaginary friend; James never "came over;" she only ever saw him at school. No, Pet thought, this couldn't be right. But why would Daisy lie?

"I think," Miss Anne said slowly, "that you need to have a talk with your sister, Petunia. Imaginary friends are normal, but the lying and the violence is cause for concern."

 _Call me Petunia one more time_ , Pet through angrily. Her hip jutted out and she scowling.

"Are we done here?"

"Do you have a plan?"

"I'll talk to her," Pet said sharply. _Now get off my ass_. This whole school had it out for her, she thought. They knew she was struggling. They were just waiting to see her fail, waiting to call CPS, and Pet wouldn't, _couldn't_ let that happen. The threat was always heavy in the air when she was around the faculty, dark in their eyes—she knew they were all thinking it. But Daisy was all she had.

"Please do," Miss Anne said. "I'll be keeping an eye on her behavior. There's nothing wrong with being in over your head, Petunia. I'd just hate to see it have a negative effect on someone so young."

There it was. The two women locked eyes. Pet's hands balled into fists.

"Are we done here?" Pet asked lowly, and Miss Anne nodded. Pet turned stiffly and strode out the door, where Daisy was waiting for her on the other side.

* * *

That night, Pet sat across from Daisy at the dinner table. It was much too big for them, and sometimes it seemed so hauntingly empty; half of their family was always missing, and Pet and Daisy never sat in their parents' empty chairs. Sometimes, Pet thought she was used to it, but others the empty spaces were all she could see. She speared a meatball with her fork and twirled it around and around, watching as her little sister wolfed down her food.

"Remember to chew," Pet drawled. Daisy had spaghetti sauce all over her face. Pet just kept watching her, considering, as she took a nibble off her meatball.

"This is my favorite," Daisy sang, and Pet smiled slyly. She knew it was her favorite. She would get her nice and stuffed, tired and happy, and then she would catch her when she was off guard. "Can I save some?"

"Why?"

"I think James would like it, too."

 _There_ , she thought, easy as pie. This was her opening. "Sure, princess," Pet said. "It's awful nice of you to feed James all the time."

"Thanks," Daisy said, licking her chops. "I always tell him you're the _best cook_ so I wanted to feed him something other than sandwiches and cookies. I don't think that's very healthy for him, anyway."

"Mm," Pet nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes. Daisy finally looked up and cocked her head curiously to one side. "And how is James doing?" Pet asked.

"He's okay," Daisy said.

"Tell me more about him."

"Like what?"

"What's he like?" She'd heard the basics; he was funny, he was grumpy, typical kid-stuff. Generic. She needed something deeper.

"He's _so funny_ ," Daisy oozed, her eyes sparkling. Pet had heard this before. "Sometimes he doesn't know why he's funny, but it's his face. He makes such silly faces and says such silly things. Sometimes we pretend to be spies."

"Oh, really? He likes spy games?"

"I guess," Daisy said, chomping into a meatball. "He's nice most of the time, but sometimes he's crabby."

"Are you good friends?"

"I _think_ so," Daisy said slowly, thoughtfully. Time to turn up the heat, Pet thought. It was time to really grill her.

"What does he look like?"

"He's tall," she said. "Really tall. Um, brown hair. Blue eyes. He hurt one of his arms, though."

"Aw, did he break it?"

"I guess," she said, and Pet was a little amazed at how good a liar she was. When had this happened?

"Well, I hope you sign his cast," Pet said dryly. "What else?"

"He—he's kind of dirty. I don't know if he ever takes a bath. He smells _real bad_. I'm trying to teach him to be nice, though, because I don't think his mom ever taught him manners."

"How kind of you," Pet said. Daisy seemed to have no idea what was going on. "Why do you like him so much, Dai? Why is he your friend?"

"He… um, well, he's nice. Sort of. And he, um, he needs my help, so I want to help him. He's good." She paused. "He makes sure I'm safe." It clicked. If this James character was imaginary, then she must have created him because she was lacking something. Right? Some need wasn't being met. Was it safety? Kindness? He made her feel needed—was Pet not doing that? _Should she be?_ She had no idea, and now her mind was running in circles, wondering if she had neglected some aspect of Daisy so badly that she'd needed to invent a friend to fill that void. She felt a little ill.

"Well—that's good," Pet said. "I'm glad. How come he never comes over?" Other kids had their imaginary friends over all the time—or at least they did on TV. She'd never encountered an imaginary friend before. She thought she would try her luck. "Can I meet him?"

"No," Daisy said quickly.

"Why not?" Pet inquired. " _Can_ I see him? Or can only you see him?"

Daisy stopped for a moment and just stared at Pet. "He—James isn't _imaginary!"_ she cried. "He's _real!_ "

"Okay, okay!" Pet said quickly. "Sheesh, give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

Daisy was glaring now, her arms crossed, and she looked hurt. "He's _real_ ," she mumbled.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Pet said, perturbed now. "Why don't you have him come over, then? I'll talk to his mom, if you want, I'm sure we can set something up and you guys could play here sometime."

"I don't think he would like that."

"Why not?"

"He's weird that way."

Pet sighed heavily and put her head in her hands. "Daisy, look," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I talked to Miss Anne. And I told her what you said about James." Daisy's eyes went wide. True, deer in the headlights look. "I know you're lying to me. There's no one named James in your class."

"He's in—"

"There's no James in Mr. Garcia's class, either." Daisy was staring at her plate. "What did I say about _lying_ , Dai?"

"James is real," she said.

"Who is he, then? Where did you meet him? Daisy, I want to meet James." She was fiercely protective, now. If James wasn't imaginary and he wasn't in her class, then _who was he?_ It was alarming. It frightened her. Daisy had clammed up and she wasn't talking.

"I want to meet him, Daisy," Pet said firmly, using her _I'm-the-adult-here_ voice. Daisy ducked her head. "I'm serious. Or you can't hang out with him anymore."

Daisy gasped. _"Pet!"_ she wailed.

"I'll have Mrs. Anderson pick you up from school again," Pet threatened. "No more walking home. If I can't trust you, or where you're going, this is what happens. See?"

" _Fine_ ," Daisy snapped, glaring.

"Watch your tone, miss."

"Fine," Daisy said, more softly this time. "I'll bring him over."

Pet was a little startled by this, but she tried not to show it. "Good," she said with a nod. "Now, finish your dinner."

* * *

Bucky dug into the spaghetti hungrily, ravenous. It was a nice change from the sandwiches day after day, and oh, Daisy had been right. Her sister was an _amazing_ cook. When had he ever eaten anything this tasty before? Everything was made from scratch, Daisy had said, except the noodles. He ate every last bite, and when he was done Daisy took the little plastic container and sat quietly. Something was wrong, he thought as he sat beside her. The kid was _never_ this quiet. He remembered the conference the teacher had wanted, and he wondered if she'd gotten into trouble.

"Hey, kid," he said slowly. "Why the long face?" Daisy smiled weakly up at him, but she didn't speak. He wasn't sure what to do, so he nudged her gently with his elbow. She nudged him back, a little smile on her face, but that was as much as he got out of her.

Funny, he thought. Sometimes her incessant babble drove him crazy, but this was worse. She heaved a deep sigh and finally looked up at him.

"Do you remember, yet?"

"Nope," he said, popping his lips on the _p_ like she always did, and she giggled. She didn't really look disappointed with his answer, anymore. "What happened with your teacher and that little jerk?"

"Oh, she just talked to my sister," Daisy said.

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Not too much." This time, Daisy's smile was genuine. "Actually, I got in trouble for lying. But then me and my sister celebrated."

"Celebrated?"

"Yeah," she said with a soft giggle. "We had ice cream and watched TV because my sister said Stupid Jordan finally got what he deserved."

Bucky was a little surprised at this, but nodded approvingly. "That's what I like to hear," he said. "Sounds like your sister's got a good head on her shoulders." He'd been tempted to spy, before. Daisy talked about her sister a lot, but he had never been able to bring himself to do it. It felt wrong.

"I think you'd like her," Daisy said, looking up at him. "She's funny. And she's nice. She helps sick animals."

"Hm," Bucky said.

"Anyway," Daisy said. "Want to come over?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Want to come over? To my house?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, kid."

"Why not? Is it because of _Hydra?_ " her voice was hushed dramatically and he almost smiled, but instead he nodded seriously. They were a very real threat, and it had been too quiet. "Well," Daisy said, "I was just thinking maybe you could come over and eat some real dinner. I told you my sister is a really good cook. She could make something _real good_."

"Tempting," he said dryly, but the tone went over her head. "Look, I don't think that's a good idea. It might upset her."

Daisy pouted, her lower lip jutting out, and he chucked her gently under the chin. She pushed his hand away. "Well," she tried again. "She _wants_ to meet you."

" _What?_ "

Daisy's eyes went wide. "It's okay!" she said quickly. "I promise, it's okay!"

He was breathing heavily. She tried to calm him down. _It's a trap_ , his mind screamed. _It's a setup_. He rounded on Daisy, who looked genuinely frightened.

"Bucky?" she asked timidly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He flinched. "It's okay, it's okay, I promise. I didn't tell her who you _are._ She wants to meet you and I thought it could be good because maybe then you could stay _with_ us! You could have a bath and get clean. And you could have a bed and real, warm food, and—"

"I can't," he said. He had gotten too comfortable here, with this kid. He stood and she jumped up, grabbing his hand.

"Don't be mad," she pleaded. "She—she doesn't think you're real," Daisy finally confessed. There were tears in her eyes. "She thought you were in my class and Miss Anne told her that you weren't and now she thinks you're imaginary and she's not going to let me see you any more unless you come over." She was crying now. Bucky groaned.

"Let's get you home, Daisy," he said, and she held his hand and walked along with her. When they reached the end of their walk, she turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his middle, her face smushed against his stomach. He patted the top of her head awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he said.

She pulled away, hiding her eyes with her hands. She was still crying. He got down on his knees, but he didn't touch her. He didn't know what to say.

"Daisy," he said. "Stop crying."

"I'm sorry," she said. She hiccupped and wiped at her face with her sleeves.

"Shh," he said, looking around urgently. "Go home, Daisy."

"Okay," she said, nodding. Her nose was red. Something inside of him twisted. She lunged at him and it took everything that he had, every ounce of willpower, not to react like he was being attacked. She flung her arms around his neck, nearly choking him, and his eyes went a little wide. "Bye, Bucky," she said. "I don't know when I'll see you again."

He grimaced. What was she doing to him? She released him and hurried away, toward her house, and he stared after her. A chill had settled in the air, skittering over his skin, and he turned back to where he knew the cold, hard bench would be waiting for him to sleep. Already, his stomach was growling again.

It was so tempting. Somewhere warm. Good food. A bed. A bath. He scratched at his beard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't put Daisy in that kind of danger and, of course, he didn't know if he could trust the sister. She seemed like a sensible person; he had a feeling she wouldn't reach well to finding out her little sister's new friend was a grown man with a metal arm, who also happened to be homeless. No, that would not work out well for him.

And yet…

He could just kill her. He could give it a shot. It was shelter, after all. If the sister proved untrustworthy, he would snap her neck like a toothpick and all his problems would be solved. There was Daisy to think about, but he hadn't gone that soft. Sure, she would be an orphan, but there were plenty of people who would take him in. As long as she didn't see him do it. As long as she didn't find out he had killed her—

"God damn it," he grumbled, turning back toward the house.

* * *

He was pushing his limits. He was dancing with danger, and a part of him was thrilled by the challenge. It was nice, putting these skills to use, in a way. It was different, something to take away from the park bench monotony.

Bucky had let himself into their house through their upstairs window. And, from there, he had wandered around, inspecting it, listening in on Daisy and her sister. He had to know what kind of people they were. He had to be sure. He would leave, of course; he wouldn't stay the night. That was too invasive. But, for now, he would lurk in the shadows, listen in on them, formulate a plan.

Pet was his focus. She was the problem. It wouldn't be her fault if she reacted badly; any sane person would. But was she the type who could be reasoned with? She was in the kitchen washing dishes; Daisy was upstairs doing her homework, so Bucky hid in the darkness of the adjoining dining room, which Pet had cleared out. She wasn't anything like he had imagined, when Daisy had talked about her. He had expected her to look like a more grown up version of the girl, but this wasn't the case. Where Daisy had smooth, lighter skin, brown hair, and big brown eyes, her sister had bronze, sun-kissed skin covered by thousands of tiny freckles. Her face, her shoulders, her legs—every part of her, it seemed, had those freckles. Her eyes were a lighter brown, nearly amber, and her hair was wavy and messy, the darkest black he had ever seen.

She had the look and movements of someone who was deeply, immensely tired. It was a bone-deep tired, one that he sometimes thought he felt, himself. When Daisy wasn't looking, she seemed to get lost in her head; her brows would crease, her eyes would grow uncertain, and she would look worried. She seemed always to be deep in thought, but the second Daisy came around, she would perk right up, all smiles, thrilled to see her sister. But her eyes were still tired.

Even he, who had no idea who he was, who had no idea how to handle his own emotions, could tell that Daisy was her weakness. She adored her. If anyone wanted to get to her, all they had to do was go after Daisy, and this was dangerous. He knew that her love for her sister was dangerous to _him_ —she would turn him in in a heartbeat if it meant protecting the child.

But he also knew that she was kind. This was the woman who had spent a few weeks' worth of resources on someone who she believed to be a strange classmate, a friend of her sisters. He could tell that while they were surviving, they weren't exactly _well off_ , but that hadn't stopped her. She had shared what she had with someone she hadn't even known. She wanted to help people, and he understood where Daisy's fierce helpfulness had come from. And, although he didn't know her, and she didn't know him, he felt indebted to her, just a little; she'd been helping him without even knowing it. He hadn't even met her and she had already shown him great kindness.

He was watching her quietly and she was washing a plate. She had cooked something that smelled delicious for dinner, and he was considering stealing the leftovers on his way out, but decided against it. She was slouched against the sink, rinsing the plate, when she stilled suddenly. She stood straight and turned around slowly, staring into the darkness; he knew she couldn't see him, but he still held perfectly still. She set the dish aside, her eyes narrowed, lips parted slightly as she toweled off her hands, still staring _right at him_ , but she didn't see him. She shivered; she must have sensed him, and he didn't risk it. She turned around for only a moment and he moved on to another room, and it was a good thing he had; she flicked on the light and passed right through, looking unnerved, alert, and she kept looking behind her and took a moment to peer outside before switching off the lights and hurrying upstairs, locking the doors on her way.

He followed her, perfectly silent, up to Daisy's room, where she sat on the bed. He leaned against the wall and listened to their conversation. It wasn't of much interest, until they started talking about him.

"So," Pet said, and she had a warm, rich voice when she talked to her sister. "Did you talk to James?" Daisy didn't reply, but she must have nodded. "And?"

"He won't come over."

"Aw, why not?"

"He's scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

" _You."_

" _Me?_ " she echoed, sounding alarmed. "I'm not that scary. What did you tell him about me? Hmm?" She had a playful tone, now, and there was a scuffling sound and then Daisy was squealing. After a moment they settled down.

"Well," she said. "I'm sorry, princess. But I already called Mrs. Anderson and she's picking you up tomorrow."

"I don't _like_ her."

"Neither do I," the sister muttered. "But I'm just looking out for you."

There was a silence. Then Daisy sighed.

"Pet?"

"Yeah?"

"What if James needs our help?"

"What?" her tone was alert, now. "What do you mean? Why would he need our help?"

"I mean, what if he needed our help but no one believed him. What if everyone thought he was mean? Would you help him? Is that the right thing to do?"

"Hm," she said. "Well, I always think we should help people when we can. You know that. And he's been very nice to you, hasn't he? If he's your friend and he needed help, I think helping him is the right thing."

"Okay," Daisy said. "I thought so, too. I think he's mad at me."

"Now why would he be mad at you? That's just silly. Get some sleep, okay, princess? I love you."

He sighed and headed to the bottom of the stairs to hide while the sister left and headed into her own room. Once she was settled down, once the footsteps had stopped, he made his way back out the way he had came, shutting the window. He went back to the park. He had a lot to think about. He had a lot to do. He needed to get his priorities straight.

Hydra was his main concern, primarily after the reading he had done. They had violated him, experimented on him, tormented him. They had captured him. But the books had all stopped at his "death." What about after? He wasn't a fool. He could put it together, and striking back at Hydra was at the top of his list of things to do. But to do that, he needed to get stronger. He needed to get his head on straight. He couldn't go at them half-cocked; he needed to be ready, and he couldn't do that from a park bench.

But if he took Daisy up on her offer—and he did want to, he decided—he would be putting them at risk. But he needed a base of operations. He needed to research, to track them down. He could _not_ do this from a park bench, and here he was, presented with a place to do all of these things. There were risks involved, of course, but nothing he couldn't handle. Right? No, he could handle it, he thought coolly. It was what he was trained to do. And he would be a fool to turn his back on a gift that was being offered to him like this—everything he needed on a silver platter.

So he spent the night planning. Get strong. Get your head on straight. Destroy Hydra. It was a simple to-do list, at a glance, but he knew it was much, _much_ easier said than done. And he had to start somewhere.

 **AN: Bucky and Pet meet in the next chapter! I think you're going to like it. It was a lot of fun to write! Let's see how many reviews this chapter can get! I'm really loving your feedback so much, and I'm glad you're all enjoying the relationships so far! Can't wait to throw in the Bucky/Pet dynamic!**

 **I do love Bucky and Daisy, though. I adore writing them together. Any scenes you'd be interested in reading? I have a few funny Bucky/Pet scenes planned and I have a REALLY CUTE one for Bucky and Daisy planned out, but that won't be for a while! (Also, can't stop seeing him as Stich now, with Daisy as his Lilo!)**

 **Let me know! If you have anything you want to see happen between anyone, drop it in a review! :)**


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: So far, we've seen Bucky only from his own perspective. Now, we'll see him through Pet's, and I loved writing that contrast—how she sees him versus his internal thoughts, and also a bit different from how Daisy sees him, too. She's just a kid; so writing from Pet's POV allows an entirely new look at him. I hope you like it, because I enjoyed writing it!**

He knocked on the door. He knew Daisy was home by now, and he could have let himself in, but he figured twisting the knob until the lock broke probably would alarm the sister before she even set foot in the house. So he knocked and he listened. He heard Daisy approach the door, her footsteps slow, cautious, and when she didn't say anything he knocked again.

"Daisy," he said. "It's me. Open up."

She opened the door so quickly that he was surprised it didn't come flying off the hinges.

" _You're here!_ " she squealed, throwing her arms around him. He looked around quickly and ushered her back inside the house, where she pulled away and looked him up and down. "Are you staying?" she asked, eyeing his large backpack. There were weapons inside, and his old black armored clothing, nothing more. He didn't have anything else. He lifted one shoulder.

"That's up to your sister."

"She'll be home soon!"

"I know."

He closed the door behind them and she led him around the house he had already been inside. He nodded as she showed him each room; the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, her bedroom, her sister's bedroom, and the guest room—"This is where you'll stay," she said, motioning for him to follow her inside. It was a large room, the largest bedroom in the house, and she followed behind him with wide eyes. The bed was against the wall—bigger than the other two beds, a bed meant for two people. The walls were bare; there were no photos, unlike the rest of the house. It was plain, clean. She told him he could leave his bag, but he didn't.

She was showing him one of the two bathrooms when he heard the front door unlock. He stiffened and Daisy looked up at him.

"Wait here," she whispered, and she left him behind to hurry down the stairs. He gave her a slight head start before we went down after her slowly, silently, sticking to the darkness. Daisy leapt into her sisters arms, knocking her back slightly, and the older girl spun her around.

"Hi," she said warmly, kissing her forehead sloppily before setting her back down. The older woman's eyes darted toward Bucky's hiding spot and lingered on him for just a moment before Daisy had her attention again.

"Guess what?" Daisy sang.

"What?" her sister asked. She had made her way into the kitchen now, still dressed in her scrubs, which, for some reason, instilled a sort of fear in him. His heart rate picked up a little at the sight of them.

"James is here!"

Her sister choked a little on her drink, wiping her face and setting her glass down.

"What?"

"James is here!"

He watched her glance around the kitchen slowly. " _Where?_ Why didn't you warn me? The house is a mess and—how did he get here?"

"He walked," Daisy said simply.

"His mom just let him _walk to a stranger's house?"_ Daisy shrugged. "Dai, you have to warn me about these things—"

"Well, you wanted him to come over, so—"

Her sister looked deeply frustrated for a moment before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, nodding slightly. "Alright," she said slowly, squaring her shoulders. "Well, I'd like to meet him."

Daisy smiled and turned to shout up the stairs. _"James! Come down!"_ This was it. This was the moment. He stayed where he was; it wasn't too late to go back. This could go very badly, very quickly. He took too long apparently, because Daisy came running back up the stairs and nearly ran into him.

"Hi," she said softly, taking his hands. "Come on, don't be scared."

Oddly enough, to took comfort in the contact and she led him down the last few steps, into the kitchen. He clutched his backpack strap with one hand, then felt for his knife at his belt. Daisy still held onto his flesh hand. Her sister had turned and was rooting around in the fridge, her back to them, and he realized this was it; this was his last chance.

"Pet," Daisy said, and Pet turned. "This is James."

She froze. She didn't move; didn't breathe. For a moment she was as still as a statue, her eyes wide. Then her lips parted, and her eyebrows shot up, and her hand went over her heart.

"Oh, my god."

* * *

Pet swore she had never been so close to having a heart attack as when she turned around and found her sister holding hands with a _grown man_. Her throat closed up and her mouth went dry and she felt a little faint. She struggled for words, but there were none. Her brain was frozen. She couldn't move, but a deep, chilling sense of horror came over her, made her feel sick. It was the kind of panic she hadn't felt for a long, _long_ time, the kind of panic she had hoped to never feel again.

"D-Daisy," she said, and her voice was high and squeaky. Slowly, her eyes not leaving the man, she extended her hand toward Daisy, who took it automatically. She tugged her sister behind her, standing between them. "Who—"

"This is James," she said again.

"This—he's your new friend," she whispered, and her head spun. She could taste the copper tang of fear on her tongue. She backed them up, her eyes never leaving his face.

There was something _wrong_ about him, something so deeply unnerving, and she couldn't place it. He was tall, broad, but he looked malnourished: his cheeks were as hollow as she'd ever seen on a person, his skin pale, gaunt, his eyes deeply shadowed. She was reminded of the starved animals she'd had to nurse back to health. His cheekbones stood out sharply beneath his skin. He had a rough, dirty beard, the results of what seemed like a little over a month's worth of grow out. His eyes were a hollow, dead, flat blue; they just stared at her, unreadable, like chips of ice, red rimmed. His hair was long and dirty; matted and scraggly, tucked sloppily beneath a ball cap. He reeked. He looked like he hadn't showered in—well, she didn't want to think about how long, and his _clothes_ —

Her heart was pounding. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He was still in a way that was menacing, but there was something—odd about him. He seemed unbalanced. Fragile. But that didn't make sense. And he was familiar, in a way, something that tickled and tugged at the back of her mind, something that she couldn't place, but it bothered her deeply. Every hair on her body stood on end.

"Daisy," she said softly, trapping her sister between her back and the counter top. "Who—"

"It's okay," Daisy said, squirming away. Pet snatched at her but she escaped, reaching up to hold the man's hand. She smiled widely, proudly, but the man's face didn't change. He didn't respond to her touch in any way. "He's my friend."

Pet braced her back against the counter. His fingertips were still; they didn't even close around Daisy's. He was frozen. She could hardly see him breathing. He was something out of a nightmare, and those _eyes._ Her own eyes filled with tears. She felt her voice begin to shake. Everything about him screamed _danger_.

"Daisy—get away from him."

"But—"

" _Now_ , Daisy."

She struggled to keep her voice calm. She didn't want to upset him. Daisy came, slowly, looking up at her "friend," confusion on her face. Pet's mind was frantic. She struggled to place him. She knew that face, she _knew_ it, and it inspired a deep fear within her.

"Who—" her voice broke and she cleared her throat, licking her dry lips. "Who are you?"

For the first time his eyes moved, flicking down to Daisy for a moment. Pet stepped in front of her, and then his eyes flicked back up to Pet. He looked at her, but it was like he was looking through her. She'd never seen intensity like that before.

"Answer me," she said weakly, feeling like she was shrinking beneath his gaze.

"I don't know," he finally said, and his _voice_. It was scratchy, husky, painful-sounding. He tilted his head and his brow creased a little, his lips just parting. Pet's palms were slick with sweat; it dripped down her back.

"He has memory loss," Daisy supplied, and her voice was so bright, so optimistic—it was jarring. Pet swallowed, unable to look away from the dirty man. "So I've been helping him. I met him in the park."

"You met him in the… in the park…" The park. Where there were homeless people. She had met him in the park. Pet's eyes flickered over his body. There was something predatory, something animalistic about him. She thought about calling the police and she backed up slowly, and as she did he took a step forward. She reached for the house phone, and as she brought it to her ear, he spoke.

"Line's dead," he said in that halting, unsettling voice.

All of her breath left her body and she dropped the phone. Her cell was on the counter and her eyes flicked to it, but he picked it up and pocketed it. A tear slid down her cheek, then, her voice unsteady as she spoke.

"Please," she said softly, wiping at her face quickly. "Please, don't hurt her."

His brow creased. "Why would I hurt her?"

"Stay away from us."

Her hand found a knife and she clutched it. His eyes locked on it and he stepped closer and she raised it threateningly. She'd never hurt someone before. The thought alone was frightening, but if it came down to it, if Daisy was at risk—

His hand shot out and caught her wrist and she uttered a small scream as he took the knife.

"Careful," he said, and the hand around her wrist was steel. And then it hit her. She knew why he was familiar. All of the news stories, the disaster involving Captain America. She choked on a sob. Her sister squirmed away from her and stood between them, staring up at the man.

"Hey!" Daisy shouted up at him. "Bucky, _stop!_ "

His eyes flicked down to her and she glared at him furiously. Bucky. She knew. Daisy knew.

" _Daisy, run!"_

"Bucky, no, let her _go_."

His eyes hadn't moved from Daisy. Pet tugged at her wrist and he finally released her, and she immediately picked Daisy up.

"Don't hurt us," she said again. She knew better than to run. "Take what you want, just—don't hurt us. Please, just go."

"I want him to stay," Daisy said, squirming in Pet's grip. "He's _nice_ , Pet, and he needs help."

"I won't tell anyone you were here," Pet said to him, ignoring her sister. "Just—go."

"He's lost," Daisy said, and she sounded upset now. "Pet, he needs our help. You said it was right."

"He's a terrorist, Daisy," Pet said, edging away, and he didn't move but his eyes never left her. _My sister brought a terrorist home,_ Pet thought. _The most dangerous man alive. And he's in my house. Because my sister is his friend._

"He's not, Pet, _stop_ ," Daisy insisted, wriggling. She struggled her way out of Pet's arms and ran back to the man—the _Winter Soldier_ —and took his hand, standing protectively in front of him. Pet's mind was in pieces. "And you too, _Bucky_ , be _nice."_ Then she looked at Pet again. "He needs a place to stay."

"We need to call someone," Pet murmured.

"He's lost and he doesn't have food. He needs help."

"We need to call the _Avengers_ ," she gasped.

Daisy stepped forward, dragging the Winter Soldier along behind her, until she grabbed Pet's hand, too. "He's nice, Pet, I promise," she insisted. "I met him in the park and we're friends. He walks me home. He makes sure I'm safe. He even helped me with Stupid Jordan." Her eyes were so big, so gentle and earnest. Pet's hand was shaking violently. "He doesn't remember who he is," Daisy went on. "Hydra hurt him. He just needs to get better."

Pet was shaking her head. "Just go," she said. "Please leave us alone."

"Pet, _please_ ," Daisy pleaded. "He's my _only_ friend."

"You don't know who he is," Pet said. It was hard. She was trying to be delicate, trying to stay calm for her sake, but she knew she didn't understand. She stood there between them, holding both of their hands, and it terrified Pet beyond all reason.

"I do," Daisy said. "He's Bucky Barnes. He's Captain America's best friend. Captain America wouldn't be friends with a bad man."

"He—he's not that man, anymore," Pet said. "He—he's a bad man."

The Winder Soldier hadn't said anything to defend himself, but now he seemed to find his voice. "I need a base," he said, and Pet's lips parted in disbelief. "I need—help." He looked earnest. But it didn't matter. She knew who he was. "Hydra—they did something to me. I don't know who I am, anymore. I don't know _what_ I am."

"I've been trying to help him," Daisy said.

"She has," he confirmed. He was so still. So rigid.

"He's never hurt me. He won't hurt us."

He was so frightening.

"I won't," he confirmed, but there was a threat that hung in the air, an _unless_ heavy between them. Pet lost it; the tears flowed. She was a rabbit trapped in her rabbit hole, and he was going to kill them.

" _We're going to die,"_ she said, clasping a hand over her mouth to stop the words before Daisy could hear them. She looked puzzled, but the Winder Soldier's eyes were on her. He had heard her words. She swayed and caught herself on the counter with one hand. He watched her intently, and Daisy came to her as she bowed her head, struggling to compose herself.

"What's wrong?" Daisy asked, tugging Pet's shirt. "Pet?"

She moved between him and Daisy, wiping her face, struggling for strength. "Nothing, princess," she said softly. "Why don't you—go upstairs, okay? Please? Just for a minute."

"But—"

" _Go, Daisy._ To your room. Now. _"_ She looked startled, glanced up at the Soldier, before she hurried upstairs, leaving Pet alone with him. She was shaking; she had gathered herself enough to stop the tears, but the terror was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She looked at him and he looked at her. He moved, and she flinched back, but blinked as she realized he was handing her the knife. She swallowed, confused, and she took it from him.

"You're holding it wrong," he rasped. "You won't do any damage like that."

" _Who are you?_ " she asked quietly, her voice fierce now that Daisy wasn't around to hear her.

"I don't know," he said again.

"Bullshit."

He stared at her. "I don't know anything. I'm trying to figure it out. And I need a place to do that."

"Why here?" she demanded, her voice squeaking. The knife was slippery in her grip. "Why us?"

"Because of her."

"Daisy," she said softly, tears springing to her eyes again.

"Yes."

" _Why?"_

"I don't know."

"Not a good enough answer."

He didn't say anything else.

" _What do you want?"_

"Somewhere I can stay," he said. This was the most she'd heard him speak. "And—figure things out. I need to—figure things out."

"Do it somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else." He sighed. "Everyone wants to kill me."

"Don't bring that into my home. Don't bring that into her life."

"I can protect you."

"Can you?" she scoffed.

"I won't harm you."

"You've killed people—"

"I can't even remember that," he said. "You don't understand. _I don't know who I am._ "

She stared at him. He seemed so genuine, so _lost_. It was suddenly easy to see why Daisy had wanted so badly to help him. She looked at the backpack and it dawned on her, very slowly: She didn't have a choice. All of this, this entire conversation, it was just an illusion. She had no control over him, no control over the situation.

"I don't have a choice," she said aloud, softly. "Do I?"

They just locked eyes. She dropped the knife and it fell to the floor with a clatter. He didn't say a word. _Daisy's new friend_ , she thought, feeling sick again. She'd befriended the most wanted terrorist in the world.

"I won't harm you."

"Unless…" she murmured.

"Unless you reveal me." She bit her bottom lip and nodded slowly, covering her mouth with one hand again.

"And Daisy?"

"I would never hurt her."

She could tell that he meant it, and it was some small relief.

"If I ask you to leave," Pet said softly. "You won't go?"

"I just need a safe place," he muttered.

"Can we trust you?"

"I—" He stopped. He looked confused, and then he shook his head. "I don't know."

At least he was honest. "Do you have a plan?"

"Get my feet on the ground. Get stronger. Figure out _what_ I am." He swallowed. "Then go after the people who made me."

"And who is that?"

"Hydra."

"And what about Captain America?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I don't know yet. It's—complicated. But I'll keep you safe. If you help me, you won't be harmed."

"Unless I reveal you," she breathed.

Daisy came rushing down the stairs. "What are you guys talking about?" she demanded. "Can he stay, or what?"

He looked at her. She didn't have a choice. She nodded weakly. "Yeah, princess," she said weakly, her voice catching. "He can stay."

"Yay!" She sang, and rushed to him, throwing her arms around him. Pet flinched and took a step forward, her heart stopping. Daisy completely trusted him. Daisy grabbed his hand, the metal one, and said, "C'mon, Bucky, you need a bath!"

"Go ahead, kid," he said, and there was something almost like affection in his voice. She raced back up the stairs. The Soldier looked back up at Pet, and once she was certain she was out of earshot, she stepped into him, so close that her breath fell against his face, and said lowly:

" _Stay the fuck away from my sister."_

 **AN: Keep leaving those reviews, please! I love hearing from you guys! Next chapter: Bucky gets that bath!**


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Those reviews. You guys. I am so motivated to write this as quickly as possible, keep em coming! In this chapter, we flash forward at the end, and Pet and Steve have a little chat. Tell me what you think!**

At first he thought to brush off her threat. What could she possibly do to him? She would be no match for him, even at her best, even at his worst. He didn't fear her, and as her breath fell against his face his lip curled at her closeness and he snarled, and when she pulled back there was a fire in her amber eyes that caused him, just for a moment, to reconsider crossing her. He hadn't seen her as a violent person before; he didn't think she had it in her, but something inside of him thought it might be best to _not_ push her to that point.

He leaned in to her, following her as she pulled back. He didn't know who he was, but threats rubbed him the wrong way. "Careful," he said again, his tone matching hers for all it's deadliness. He could practically smell the fear rolling off of her, but the woman wasn't backing down, not now, now that Daisy wasn't in the immediate vicinity, and it was then that he realized that, as long as the child was around, the woman wasn't a threat. She looked frightened at his closeness, she tried to hold her ground, but he could see the strain in her neck as she leaned away.

" _Bucky!"_ Daisy called from upstairs, and with a lingering look at the sister, he turned and headed back upstairs, leaving the sister behind. Daisy was waiting by the bathroom and motioned him inside, handing him a bar of soap. "You can leave those smelly clothes," she said. "Pet can wash them. We'll find you something else to wear."

He nodded and stepped into the bathroom, and he felt the anxiety rush him again. So many knobs. He experimented, and it took him a while to get it right, but finally the water came streaming out of the showerhead at the right temperature. He stripped and dropped the clothes on the floor, stepping beneath the water. He was quick about it, methodical; he took no enjoyment from it. This, at least, was somewhat familiar, mechanical. In his mind, he knew that he would step in, clean himself in under five minutes. There would be handler somewhere to take his old clothes and give him something new, and then—and then—

His head hurt. He shook it violently and scrubbed at himself with the bar of soap, watching the dirt and the grime wash down the drain. It took him a moment to realize that he'd been squeezing it too hard, in his frustration, and the bar had molded itself around his steel fingers. He pried it away, set aside, rinsed himself, and shut off the water. He waited, only for a couple of seconds, before he heard heavier footsteps heading up the stairs toward him; it was Pet.

* * *

"Daisy," Pet called once she heard the shower start. "Daisy, come here _right now!_ " Daisy came speeding around the corner, the picture of joy. That is, until her eyes settled on Pet's face. She spun back around quickly and raced away and Pet took off after her, catching her shoulder and dragging her into the living room. Daisy's eyes were big; she knew she was in for it, now, but Pet was too frantic to care.

"What were you _thinking?_ " Pet demanded. "Do you know who that is?"

"He's Bucky!"

" _He's the Winter Soldier!"_

"No," Daisy insisted. "Pet, you don't know him like I do, he's not what they say—"

"Oh, my god," Pet said, raking her hands through her hair. "Daisy—"

"Pet, _listen_ ," Daisy insisted, grabbing Pet's shirt and dragging her down. Pet went to her knees, weak, and Daisy grabbed her face fiercely and stared into her eyes. " _Trust me_. He needs our help, Pet! He's lost and confused—"

"He—"

"He's _not_ bad," Daisy said. "I promise, Pet, please just _trust me_."

As if it was so easy to do.

" _Trust me."_

Pet was already shaking her head. "What are we going to do?"

"He needs _kindness_ ," Daisy said, and suddenly her voice was shaking and her lip quivered and it broke Pet's heart. "He said they hurt him. I think he was abused." A tear slid down her cheek and Pet wiped it away. Oh, she was a mess. She was angry and she was scared and now her sister was upset and she was just in too deep, so in over her head—

"He needs to be cared for," Daisy said, still holding Pet's cheeks between her hands. "We can be kind. We can help him. I'm so sad for him. Who would want to hurt him?"

She had a list of people, but she thought it best not to share.

"Stay away from him, Daisy. He's dangerous."

"He's _not_ ," she insisted. She was crying. She had such a big heart. She always had. Other people's suffering was her suffering, and she curled in on herself a little, shoulders hunched, and suddenly Pet had her arms around her. "Just look at him," Daisy said. "Try and see him. You'll see. He's not what they say, Pet, he's _not_ and we can help him. Someone _hurt_ him!"

"Shh, Daisy, please—"

"Someone hurt him," she whimpered. Pet was listening to the shower upstairs. "I just want to help him. Everyone deserves help sometimes, right?"

 _This is different,_ Pet thought. _He's a terrorist._

"Please give him a chance," Daisy pleaded. "I know you're scared, but that's because you believe what they said. Just try. He's not what they say."

"Daisy—"

" _Promise_ ," Daisy pled. "Promise you'll try. You have to really _try_."

"I'm just trying to keep you safe. We can't—"

"He's my friend," Daisy insisted. "He won't hurt us."

"You can't know that, princess—"

"I do, I _know_ it, _please_ Pet!"

She believed it. Pet could see that. Daisy truly and wholly believed that he wasn't a bad person. Maybe he wasn't, Pet thought, but even if that was the case, even if Daisy was right, it _wasn't her problem_. She couldn't put Daisy in danger.

"He needs clothes," Daisy said in a soft, feeble voice. "His clothes are so dirty."

She couldn't do this. She _couldn't do this_.

"Daisy."

" _Please_ ," Daisy was still crying. "Please don't send him away, Pet, please. They'll hurt him."

"Daisy, I—"

"Just give him a chance."

She heard the shower shut off. Her heart stopped and she looked up toward the stairs, up toward the bathroom, then back at Daisy, whose eyes were wide again. Pet stood abruptly.

"Pet?"

She ignored her. She strode toward the stairs.

" _Pet, please!_ " Pet spun around as Daisy grabbed her shirt. The kid was a mess; she looked about how pet felt, except that Pet wanted to throw up, too. "You're going to help him… right?" Pet didn't know what else to do. She nodded numbly.

"Stay in the living room," Pet said.

"But—"

"I'm not asking you," Pet said, her voice faint, still numb. "Just go. I'll get him some clothes."

She turned away, pointing sternly at the couch, and then rushed upstairs. She had some of their father's old clothing, and she went for a pair of sweats; he was larger than their father had been, and she figured sweats offered the best change of fitting him. She also grabbed a t-shirt and then, headed to the bathroom, leaning against the door, gathering her breath, gathering her strength. She couldn't believe she was giving her dead father's clothes to a terrorist. When had her life gone so badly? Where had she gone wrong? Hadn't she told her sister, time and again, not to speak to strangers?

She swallowed, wiped her eyes, steeled herself, and knocked on the bathroom door. There was no response, so she sighed and spoke.

"It's Pet," she said, trying to make her voice strong. She would not let him see her afraid. Not again. This was her home; she was in charge. "I've got some clothes. Open up."

To her surprise, the door opened. She held out the clothes, and then her body locked up and her mouth opened and she uttered a scream, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Oh my god!" she cried, covering her eyes with one hand. "What the fuck?"

He was naked. Just standing there, all tall and huge and deadly, on the other side of the door, and he was naked. _What the fuck?_ she thought, over and over. _What the actual fuck?_ What was the deal with this guy? She took a breath, swallowed, and opened her eyes slowly. He was still there; he hadn't moved an inch. He didn't look ashamed, or embarrassed at all; he stood there like it was _normal_ , which told her that, in his mind, it was, and she wasn't sure what she felt about that. She swallowed, her eyes trained on his face, and she offered the clothes to him. He took them, tugged the pants on as she looked away, at anything other than him, and once he had them on she looked at him again just in him for him to hand her his dirty clothes.

"What—?"

It was mechanical, the way he did it. Procedural. And then she realized that it must have been just that.

"Okay," she said, slowly, holding the reeking clothing. His face was still blank—cleaner, now, but still blank, dead in the eyes, calculating. But he looked _lost,_ she realized. That look in his eyes, she had been wrong. They weren't dead, at least not now. They were just _lost_. Scared. He watched her, almost like he was waiting for instruction, and she took him in again. He wasn't a small man by any means; he was strong, muscular, but he was clearly malnourished. She could count his ribs when he breathed. His body was scarred, and that _arm_ —the flesh adjoining the metal shoulder was ragged and ugly.

She tore her eyes away from it and looked back up at his face, sickened and unnerved, wondering whether he was more man or more machine, and she was leaning toward machine. He was breathing a little more heavily, now, and his eyes were on her body—no, she realized, not her body. Her scrubs. He was looking at them and he looked—God, help her—he looked frightened. Upset by them, and when she moved his eyes flicked up to her face and slowly she was putting the pieces together to form an ugly, upsetting picture.

The arm, the ugly scarring—that unease in his eyes as he looked at her scrubs—he was like a child with a fear of doctors. It was almost pitiful, especially seeing him as vulnerable as he was, now. She decided to test her theory, gently, just a little, and she took a step toward him and the result was telling and saddening: his entire body locked up, the muscles straining, his jaw clenching. His breath caught a little, the whites of his eyes just a little more prominent.

She thought of children who had been abused, and the way they behaved. He was—and she couldn't believe she was thinking this—fragile. She could see it now, as she looked at him. Those faraway eyes were so fragile, and although he looked deadly and she knew he could kill her, Daisy's words came back to her. " _They hurt him_." She felt a little sick again.

Suddenly, she felt like she wasn't looking at a terrorist, or an assassin, or a super-soldier-murderer. She was looking at a child, one who was lost and who had been hurt and had been the subject of countless awful tests—she remembered learning about him, and it all came back to her as she looked at his face, that look in his eyes, that awful metal arm.

This had been done without his consent.

She thought about the things she had read online and in magazines, reporters hounding Captain America about the Winter Soldier, the way he had insisted, over and over, that the Soldier had dragged him from the river, had saved him, had been brainwashed and tortured and all he wanted was to prove to people that he could be saved—

 _No_ , she thought. _This isn't my business_.

She was already taking care of one child, and that maternal part of her heart went out to him, but, no. It wouldn't anyone any good to get involved. She cleared her throat and those eyes locked on her face with that unsettling intensity. He was like a machine, she thought again. She also noticed that his face was just as hairy as it had been, that his hair was still matted and knotted, and she wondered, suddenly, if he even knew _how_ to shave and to get the tangles out.

"Alright," she said slowly, and motioned to the shirt in his hand. "Put that on. We need to chat."

He tugged the shirt on and, just as she had suspected, it was tight. The sleeves and chest looked ready to burst should he move too quickly, but it was all she had and it would have to do. She heard his stomach growl and, again, she was reminded as she looked at him of just how starved he was. Did he know how to feed himself? Did he know how to get food? Or did super-assassins just have that sort of thing provided for them? She wondered if he knew how to take care of himself in the real world, wondered if that sort of thing had always been handled for him, and the more she thought about it—the way he hadn't shaved or touched his hair, the way he had stood naked in front of her, the starved look to him—the more she realized that was likely the case. And now, he was without his handlers, and he was filthy and hairy and starving.

"Pet!" Daisy called from downstairs. "Is he done?"

Pet clutched his clothing and he stooped down and picked up his backpack. She wondered what was inside, then realized it was probably best not to know.

 _Calmly_ , she told herself, leading him back downstairs. He was calmer around Daisy, for some reason, and if she could keep a calm attitude, maybe, just maybe, she could pull this off.

"Bucky," Daisy sang when she saw him, hugging him tightly. Pet watched him and saw his mouth twitch, just a little, hinting at a small smile. "You don't smell anymore!"

"Thank god," Pet muttered, earning a sharp look from the assassin. She cleared her throat. "Let's sit—okay?"

The Soldier sat on the couch and Daisy sat beside him, and Pet thought she was going to lose her mind, but sat in a chair opposite them.

"Alright," she said, taking a breath. She laced her fingers together. "You, um, Soldier—"

"Don't call me that."

"Okay," she said slowly. "What do you want me to call you?"

He was silent.

"Bucky?" Daisy suggested, but he shook his head, his face confused. "James?"

"What did they call you?" Pet asked. Her heart was still pounding. "Before?"

"I didn't have a name," he said. _God damn it,_ she thought, closing her eyes. This got more pitiful by the moment. "I was just the Asset."

"Well, that won't work," she said. Had she ever heard anything quite so sad? "What about just Barnes, then?" He paused, then just shrugged. "Barnes it is, then. So, then—are they looking for you?"

"I would assume so," he said in that dry, bored voice. His answers were always so short, like he wasn't accustomed to talking. She knew, by now, that he wasn't.

"And you're looking for them?"

He nodded. "That's the plan," he said. "But I—like I said I need a home base. Somewhere to operate."

"Here," she said, and he nodded again. "What do you need?"

"A computer," he said slowly. "And somewhere to stay. That's it."

"And food," Daisy said. "And a bed, and a shower—"

"Luxuries," Barnes said, shaking his head.

"He can stay in the guest room," Daisy said, and Pet nodded. This was trivial. None of it mattered. She bit her lip.

"Will they come here?" she asked. "Can they track you?"

"Not that I'm aware."

That was some relief, then. She watched as he scratched at his beard, and she thought it must have been uncomfortable. She looked away.

"Use my computer, then," she said. "If you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone. Deal?"

He nodded.

* * *

 **Present Day**

Hydra had always been at the top of Steve's shit-list, but after hearing Pet's story, this was the case now more than every. It had been a long, exhausting, emotional day. Pet and her story, as it turned out, were, unfortunately, 100% legitimate. Bucky even had the fresh scare just under his hairline that she'd been talking about. He'd found himself hoping that she was lying, that she was some crazy fan who'd come up with an elaborate scheme, but this wasn't the case. Her story was as awful as he'd ever heard: a good, innocent person who'd gotten caught up in something bigger than herself and who had suffered dearly for it.

"I was in a coma for eleven days," she informed them. Bucky had been sitting across from her, and the look of shame on his face, that guilt, was something Steve would pay to never have to see again. Her voice was harsh and raspy, damaged, and when she had removed her scarf it had become clear why: they'd tried to strangle her, crushed her windpipe. "I woke up and they told me she was gone. It's been three weeks."

She hadn't been talking to all of them; they were just bystanders, her felt. Her words were for Bucky and Bucky alone. Bucky had covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes squeezed shut; Steve had thought he was crying at one point.

"I'm so sorry," he had said, and Pet shook her head, her face in her hands.

"I just want her back," she had whimpered.

They had taken the girl, Daisy, to get to Bucky. This much was clear. Steve knew it was a trap. Sam and Bucky knew this as well, but that didn't mean they would sit it out. Steve had already phoned Natasha, and she was on her way.

"I'll get her back," Bucky swore. "Pet, I'll get her back."

Pet had just nodded weakly.

She was sitting on the couch, now. She had tried to go, but Steve had stepped in.

"Do you have a place?"

"A hotel, a few miles away."

"I think you should stay here for the night," he had said, standing between her and the door. "You're in no condition to walk home—or be alone," he amended.

"Is that your professional opinion?" she tried weakly at the joke, and Steve had smiled softly.

"It's his," he said, jerking his thumb at Sam. "But I'm not blind. Just stay the night; it's no trouble. I don't need you on my conscience."

She'd watched him through big amber eyes and had finally just nodded listlessly and sat gently on the couch. His heart went out to her; she'd had a dislocated shoulder, cracked rib, and had generally just taken a beating. Bucky had come back into the room to check on her—Sam had sent him away to compose himself—and Pet had gone stiff, her eyes angry.

"Go away," she had said to Bucky. "Please, just—I can't. Not now."

And he had looked hurt, but he had nodded and disappeared again, so now Steve sat on the couch beside her.

"Hey," he said gently. He didn't touch her. He was afraid of hurting her. "It's gonna be okay."

She shrugged, curling around herself. "My sister loves him. He—when I met him, I was so afraid, but the more I watched him the more I could see he'd been through so much and—I just wanted to help." Her face crumpled. "I'm such an idiot," she whispered, her voice shaking dangerously.

"Shh," Steve said gently. "You're not. You can't blame yourself."

"But it's my fault," she said. She wouldn't hear reason, that much was clear. "Oh, my god. I can't lose her."

"You won't," he said fiercely.

"I'm such an idiot," she said again, softly, and she was shaking.

"You're a good person," Steve said, trying for reason. "Anyone who'd take someone like him in and try to help him, just _because_ —that doesn't make you an idiot. It just makes you good."

"I need to cut it out, then," she mumbled, and he smiled a little, again.

"I know it doesn't mean much," he said, "but what you did for him—if you had called the authorities, he'd be… in a much different place."

"But my sister would be here," she said, her voice squeaky, looking up at him. It broke his heart, it truly did. He would make this right. He blew out a sigh and found himself nodding.

"I don't take that lightly," he said. He caught her eyes and stared earnestly into them, trying with all of his might to convey just how much he meant what he was about to say. "I realize that. And we _will_ fix this, Pet. Believe that."

She smiled softly, a weak smile, and nodded. She was quiet for a moment, looking at her hands, before she looked back up at him.

"Sorry for throwing myself at you like a crazy person," she said softly, but there was a little flicker of humor in her eyes.

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "Probably a better way to get my attention. Just for future reference."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"It did," he allowed, smirking a little. She sighed, let out a short, soft laugh, before she ran her hands through her black hair. She swept it over one shoulder, running her fingers absently through it. He should probably check on Bucky, he thought, and he placed a hang gently on her knee. She looked up at him and he stood.

"I should go check on him," Steve said, and she nodded, her eyes distant. "I'll be in his room. My room is yours, should you want it."

"I'm fine on the couch," she said.

"The offer stands," he replied, and she smiled a little.

"Thank you."

"Try and rest," he said. "Alright? That's an order."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she said, and he smiled and, with one last look over his shoulder, he headed toward his friend's room.

 **AN: What do you think? I love Bucky and Pet's relationship as it is right now—the way she's thinking of him, slowly, as more fragile and childlike is going to be interesting to write. What do you think of that, and her interaction with Steve?**

 **Let me know! Thank you guys so much for the support! Still open to ideas and suggestions. I'll be writing that bit from Daisy's POV here soon! Keep em coming!**


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: The** _ **real**_ **Bucky makes a BRIEF appearance in this chapter… enjoy!**

It was another week and a half before Pet finally took pity on the man, cornering him after he had showered, holding a razor in her hand. He stood in front of her, thankfully clothed in pants this time, and just stared at her. She was wearing her scrubs after she had finally returned to work (leaving him alone in the house had been very difficult for her, at first), and she had ordered him to sit.

Barnes, as it turned out, was good at following orders. Too good. And, as a result, she found herself hating asking the poor man to do _anything_ , and if she ever did, she tried her hardest to be nice about it. Daisy had been right about that: he needed kindness. In that ten days since he had come to their home, they hadn't had any violent incidents, thankfully, and although she was still uneasy around him, she found herself feeling less and less like she was going to be murdered. Occasionally, she slipped up and even gave him attitude which he _never_ responded to, which she thought odd.

Also in those ten days, she had found herself pitying him more and more. She gave him his space; she didn't force him to talk, just left him alone to figure things out on his own. It wasn't her place or her duty to fix him or to heal him; she wouldn't know where to start, anyway. All she could do was leave him to do his own thing, whatever that was. He was changing, in small ways; growing more talkative, voicing his likes and dislikes, especially in regards to food. He was saying please and thank you, which Daisy had boasted had been her doing. He was still a frightening presence, but somehow less so, and Pet found herself less inclined to think he would murder her before someone else, which she supposed was soothing.

Sometimes he would go for hours without speaking. Sometimes he would sit on the couch, perfectly still, like a statue. One night she had wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water and he had scared the life out of her when she'd found him sitting eerily on the couch, in the darkness, eyes vacant, lost somewhere else. He had hardly seemed to notice her. The next morning she had asked him about it, and he hardly remembered the incident.

Sometimes she would try and engage him in conversation, which she learned was a challenge in itself. The more she learned about him, the kinder she tried to be. Some of the things she learned without having to ask him outright. He didn't like fish, for instance. He'd taken one bite of the fish tacos she had made and had nearly gagged; she'd been offended at first, but he hadn't been able to figure out _why_ he had had the reaction to them, until they were able to put together that whoever he had been before mustn't have been a fan of fish.

Sometimes the comments he made upset her, and it was those that made her want to be kind, more than anything. He would say, in an off-handed fashion, that he hadn't been _allowed_ certain things. She'd asked him why he was so quiet: he wasn't allowed to speak unless spoken to. He wasn't allowed to have his own opinions. Weapons didn't have opinions, or questions, or thoughts or morals, and that had broken her heart. _Why make a gun that won't_ shoot, he had said, and she'd had to excuse herself from the table.

And, finally, when she realized that he had little to no autonomy, that had been the last straw. She wouldn't do anything without his consent; she would ask his opinion whenever she could, allow him to make his own decisions, because the thought of anyone being ruled so completely, so entirely, sickened her.

And so her behavior towards him, in those last ten days, had changed so drastically that it led them to where they were now. And it wasn't difficult, not anymore, to be kind to him, especially when she went from seeing him as _terrorist_ to someone who was, in many senses of the word, _helpless_. It was an odd contradiction: he was in no way helpless, and yet, he was _so_ helpless. It was a difficult balance to strike, treating him like a functioning adult while also remembering that, in many ways, he was childlike: he had trouble making his own decisions, he had trouble sleeping (he had always been _put to sleep_ , before, which also sickened her and fed her pity), he had trouble asking for help if he needed it, which meant Pet had to be observant and had to know when to step up.

"Hi, sweetie," she said, keeping her voice low and husky: gentle. It was the same low, soothing tone she used on upset animals in the clinic. "You want that beard gone?" He still hadn't shaved it, nor had he detangled his hair, and enough was enough. Those blue eyes focused on her face, on her scrubs, and it was hard for her to think that her scrubs were associated, at least in his mind, with anything Hydra.

His jaw clenched and he nodded, the motions jerky. "Alright," she soothed. "Will you sit, for me?"

His hair was still damp; the mirror was, as always, completely fogged up. This was another disturbing behavior that she had noticed but hadn't questioned, not until today: he _never_ looked in mirrors, or at himself. She would bring it up, she thought. But until then, she lathered his face up with shaving cream, a soft smile on her lips. She would never, in a million years, have imagined herself here. She uncapped the razor, a new, sharp one, and his eyes watched it carefully.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" he asked, testing the waters. He had been trying to joke more, lately. She smiled softly and shook her head, and he shrugged one shoulder, the one that was a machine. "I suppose there are worse ways to go." He didn't seem all that embarrassed, thankfully, as she dragged the razor over his skin, tilting his head this way and that, rinsing and wiping and lathering. When she was done, she lifted his hand to his face and let him feel his skin. His brow furrowed a little.

"There," she said, setting the razor aside. "Good as new. Now, what about those knots?"

He allowed her to detangle his hair with a brush and some detangler and a lot of time and patience. Daisy wandered in from time to time, but Pet kept her busy with her homework. This was methodical, fairly simple a task; she'd seen animal cases, the poor things matted and knotted, and there was always a way to fix it. Worst case, she'd shave him, but she didn't want it to get that far, and, thankfully, none of his knots were that bad.

When she was done, she ran her hands gently through his hair a few times, nodding to herself when her fingers didn't catch. He seemed soothed by the motion, and her fingers skimmed over the back of his neck once, twice, and then, on the third try, she felt something strange. Perturbed, she ran her fingers slowly, gently, over the spot again and pushed his hair out of the way. He bowed his head forward a little as she stood behind him; there was a tiny, tiny knot under his skin.

Her mouth went dry but she told herself not to panic. She told herself it wasn't what she thought it was. It couldn't be. But she'd seen them before—in animals, of course, so what were the odds that she was right? He must have noticed the shaking of her fingers because he went a little rigid.

"What is it?"

She hesitated, took a moment to calm her voice before she trailed her fingers over the skin again. "You don't think they would have put a tracking device in you, do you?"

"Not that I can remember," he said. It was the same thing he had said the first time she had asked. "Why?"

"Just—something here." She paused. "I mean, if there was one in you, you'd think it would be in the metal arm, right?" He reached around with his flesh arm to touch the spot she was talking about. "I don't know," he said, and that seemed to be his go-to answer. Her heart was pounding. "Unless—unless they wanted to put it somewhere safer. What if you detached the arm? Then what would be the point of having a tracker in something that could be lost…" she was mumbling to herself now and her fingers were back on the spot. She pressed it firmly and, sure enough, there was something _tiny_ and solid beneath the skin, so small she might have missed it, except that she knew exactly what to look for.

All of her breath left her body. He had turned around and was looking at her, now.

"Is there—"

"You can't remember anything at all?"

"No," he said, "I think that was the point." He swallowed. "I can dig it out—"

"No," she said sharply. "I—I'll do it. I can do a better job." He raised an eyebrow. "I'll do it tomorrow—I just need to steal a couple of things from work. It—it'll be fine."

She didn't want to alarm or upset him. "Probably nothing," she murmured, but she knew that it definitely _was_ something. Did they know he was here? How long had they known? Were they coming for him? There were fresh tears in her eyes and his eyes were so intent on her face. She closed them, took a breath, steadied herself, and when she reopened them she smiled at him.

"Well," she said. " _You_ look like a new man. Want to take a look?"

She gestured at the mirror. His flesh hand was still at the back of his neck, playing with the small lump, looking confused. But the second she gestured at the mirror he just had that lost, uncertain look again. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

"You don't have to," she soothed, her mind still on what she knew was a chip in his neck.

"I don't—I mean, I haven't—"

"They didn't let you," she said softly. "Did they?" He shook his head. "Do you know what you look like?"

"I've seen pictures."

"But not a reflection," she murmured. He shook his head. "And you haven't been curious?"

"Curiosity… it's not something they allowed."

"That makes sense, I guess," she said sadly. "It helps eliminate your identity. If you don't even know what you look like, well…"

He looked down at himself, stretched out his hands, flexed both sets of fingers. He was staring at the steel ones when his brow creased, his lips parted a little, and he said:

"I don't even know what I am." He paused. "What if I see a machine?"

"You're not a machine."

"I _am_ a weapon."

She came around to stand in front of him, gently pushing the hands down so that he was looking at her. No, she thought, he wasn't so scary; not when he looked at her like that, not when he was sitting in her bathroom, shirtless, freshly shaved with his long, damp hair hanging around his face. He looked so young, so painfully young.

"You're not a machine."

He clenched his metal fist. "How do you _know?_ I don't even know what they made me."

She didn't know how to explain it to him, and so she was silent for a moment. What separated man from machine? Conscience? Freedom? Free will? He didn't seem to have any of those things, although he was regaining them, slowly. She found herself wondering what she would do if it was Daisy asking her these questions, and it suddenly got a lot easier. She smiled a little, gently took his flesh hand, and dropped to her knees in front of him. He was looking at her strangely, puzzled, as she placed his large hand over his chest, where his heart beat strong.

"There," she said. "Feel that?" He nodded, eyebrows still scrunched together. "You're a man," she said. "Maybe a little lost, maybe a little confused, but you're a man, not a machine." He was nodding a little, his face unreadable, and she stood and patted his head gently, slicking his hair and tying it back out of his face. "So, what do you say?" she asked, placing one hand on his metal shoulder. It truly was an awful bit of scarring. How anyone could be so cruel—she could never understand. "Want to take a look at yourself?"

He nodded. She wiped away the remnants of condensation on the mirror as he stood and faced the mirror. She watched him carefully, unsure of the reaction she was going to get, but he just stood there, staring at himself for a few moments before he reached out with his metal hand and touched the glass. Her heart pounded for a number of reasons, and then his body went rigid and his eyes were lost and she _knew_ something was wrong, and it seemed like an eternity before he moved again and when he did he looked at her. He was breathing heavily, a look on his face that she had never seen before: he looked horrified, and she wasn't sure at what.

"Barnes," she said softly. He looked at her but he couldn't have been seeing her. "Hey," she tried again, and his body shuddered.

He shook his head violently, bringing one hand to his forehead. His lips drew back in a snarl and his muscles tensed, standing out beneath his skin. Then he cried out, an awful, wordless scream. Daisy came rushing into the room.

"What's wrong with him?" she cried, her eyes huge, and Pet shook her head.

"I don't know," she said, panicked, and Daisy went to him.

"Bucky," Daisy soothed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"My—head," he said through gritted teeth.

"It's okay, it's okay."

"They didn't want me to feel," he choked. He wasn't making sense. "They tried to burn it out of me, but all I ever did was _feel_ —"

He froze, for just a moment, and then he turned to look at them and he was _different_ , and she couldn't explain it but he was different and it scared her but it was like she wasn't looking at Barnes anymore. He looked frantic.

"Where's Steve?" he asked. He was looking at her like he didn't recognize her. He looked around the room. He looked down at his metal arm and his face transformed; his eyes went wide and his lips parted and he looked so frightened, so absolutely repulsed, and he screamed., backing away like he was trying to distance himself from the machinery. _"What did they do to me?_ "

He was breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating. He was still staring at the arm, touching it with his good hand, running all the way up to his shoulder before he cried out again.

" _Where am I?"_ he demanded. "What— _what—_ " A look of realization crossed his face and he looked at Pet desperately. "You have to get out of here," he said, seizing her shoulders. "You have to run, ma'am, do you understand? You can't be around me—"

"Bucky!" Pet squealed, and he looked down at her, then up at Pet. "Bucky, you're scaring me—"

"Listen to me—take the child and _go —_ "

"What's going on—"

He reeled back, away from her, and Pet was terrified. She had no idea what was happening; he was acting like he was losing his mind. He licked his lips, then slumped back against the wall and Pet stepped forward but he threw his metal hand up to stop her.

"Stay back," he said, and his voice was shaking with emotion. "Please."

"Bucky?" Daisy asked softly.

"What have I done?" he asked no one in particular, staring down at his hands. "Oh, god, what have I done?"

"Barnes," Pet said, her voice squeaky. "What are you talking about?"

"He's my best friend," he choked. "He's my best friend and I—I let them—after everything he did for me, I wasn't strong enough to—to—"

His face was in his hands. She tried to come closer again but he stopped her.

"Leave while you can," he said. "Before they come—"

He made a strange sound in his throat and a vein pulsed in his forehead and he began to shake. His lips peeled away from his teeth and his muscles strained beneath his skin.

" _Bucky!_ " Daisy cried, and he was trembling and he went to his knees.

"I'll kill them," he was saying. "Every last one of them—I—"

His voice cut out and he was on his hands and knees now, breathing heavily, and he tried to stand, like he was fighting something inside of himself. Then he stumbled, staggered, and it was like his strings had been cut and he fell to the floor. Daisy screamed and ran to him, grabbing at his face, pleading with him to come back. Pet dragged her away, told her he was fine, everything was fine, but nothing was fine because she had no idea what had just happened or how to handle it, but now the Winter Soldier was unconscious on her bathroom floor and she was crying. Pet wasn't sure when she had started crying, but there was no stopping it now—they were frightened tears. What had she just witnessed? It was truly upsetting.

He didn't move from where he was on the floor. Pet tried to breathe through the panic, tried to make sense of what she had just witnessed, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. She'd just met the man—the real man—beneath all of the brainwashing and the torment—he'd found the strength to resurface, and it terrified her, because she wasn't sure who she preferred: the man or the machine?

 **AN: Next chapter, we get Pet pulling the thing out from his neck! We'll be up to present day soon!** **I think I'll throw in another snippet of present day, possibly in the next chapter :)**

 **Thank you all so much for your reviews! Keep them coming!  
**


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: I decided to make this chapter super sweet and fluffy at the end because it's gonna get bad quick… :) Enjoy!**

This was _so_ hard for him, and he was fairly certain that she didn't have any idea just how difficult it was. He didn't like people to be behind him; he particularly didn't want people behind him when they were armed in any way. He felt vulnerable, and the only reason he had surrendered to her was because he realized, very suddenly, that he didn't have anything to lose. So what if she killed him?

Pet had started looking at him differently, and he knew it was because of what had happened in the bathroom the previous day. He didn't remember it too well—he just remembered fear, and waking up with his head swimming and Pet hovering over him, looking worried and upset. He had taken some time between then and now to visit with Daisy, whom Pet had said was very scared and upset, and he'd finally soothed her. It was only by Daisy's word that he had any idea what had really happened, and it disturbed him, somewhat. Was he losing control of himself?

He was drawn out of his own mind when he smelled the sharp, harsh tang of alcohol in the air. It brought back faint, distant memories, left him with a general feeling of unease. He was seated on a chair in the kitchen; Pet stood just behind him, her things on a sterile paper cloth on the counter. She'd already buzzed away a small section of his hair with her clippers and had tied the rest of it up and out of her way. He sat with his hands on his knees, his head bowed, his eyes closed as he waited.

The alcohol-soaked cotton ball was ice-cold on the sensitive skin at the base of his skull, and he flinched away from it, closing his eyes in shame, trying to steel himself. He was shirtless, and he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder, hers clad in a sterile latex glove.

"Shh," she soothed, tracing circles with her thumb. "It's okay." Her voice shook, just the slightest bit, like she was trying so hard to disguise it, to sound strong. "You can tell me to stop."

"No," he said seriously, rolling his shoulders. He wasn't sure where this fear was coming from, but he knew that all of this was unsettling: she was in her animal-clinic scrubs again. The scent of alcohol was in the air, and a clean, sterile scent clung to her—it always did, and he wondered if maybe that was why he was always slightly, _just slightly_ , uneasy around her. She smelled too sterile. The gloves felt odd on his skin, unnerving; the shiny, sharp metal tools caught his eye and he forced himself to look away.

"Aren't you going to restrain me?" he found himself asking.

"Why would I do that?" she asked, and he thanked God, suddenly, that he had taken up residence in the home of a woman with such a gentle voice. It was low and husky, soft, kind. He wasn't used to hearing voices like that speak to him.

"Just… what they always did." He paused. "They held me down."

He heard her take a breath, felt her soft exhale on the back of his neck, and he turned to face her. She stood there, in her scrubs and latex gloves, all freckles and messy hair tied back from her face and her amber eyes were wide and deeply saddened. She looked at him that way a lot, it seemed. She shook her head slowly and her expression was set, determined.

"No, sweetie," she said, and at first it had annoyed him when she had called him by pet names. Did she have any idea who she was talking to? Was she mocking him? But finally he had realized that she meant no harm, that it was her way of showing some small bit of affection, and he had gotten used to it and found himself, more often than not, soothed and warmed by the names. "No one's going to hold you down. Not anymore."

He watched her face for just a moment before he nodded and turned away. His hands were balled into fists on his knees. He hated this. He really, truly hated this. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, broken bones—those he could handle. But the scrubs and the smell and the procedure of it all, no, that was too much for him.

"Just get it over with," he growled.

"Relax," she said softly, touching the damp cotton to his neck again. He took a breath, tried to ignore the scent. "I'm going to inject you with some localized anesthetic," she said, and before he could speak, she said: "It'll just numb the area for a little while. It won't last too long, and it'll be back to normal soon. Is this okay with you?"

"Why?"

"Just so you don't feel any pain," she said, and he was thrown, a little, by this.

"No one's ever—" He paused and ground his teeth. "That's fine."

"It'll sting, just a little, at first." She said. "Ready? Relax. On the count of three. One—two—" He felt the small prick, felt the burn of whatever she was putting in him. "Three." The pain was gone and she was rubbing the spot with the cotton again. "It'll only take a couple of minutes," she was saying, and he found himself appreciating that she was being considerate enough to walk him through the process.

"You know what you're doing?" he questioned. His neck felt a little funny. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head to and fro. "You—what are you doing to me?" he was a little alarmed.

"I'm removing the tracker," she said. "Well, I'm hoping there isn't one, but if there is, I'm removing it. I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to hurt you, Barnes, okay? Trust me."

He laughed a cold, humorless laugh. "You don't know what you're asking," he said coolly, and she blew out a breath.

"You can trust me," she said. "Times up. Next step. I need you to stay very, very still for this next part, alright?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make a small incision. _Here_ ," she said, and he realized she must have been touching his neck but he didn't feel it. "And I'm going to get whatever is in there, _out_. You already have a small scar, so that tells me there's _something_ there."

Her hand came into his peripheral vision. She lifted the scalpel.

"Just be still," she said. "Can I continue?"

"Yes," he said after some hesitation.

"You can always stop me."

"Just do it."

* * *

Pet wasn't all that experienced removing microchips from people. She put them in animals and, occasionally, she took them out, so she knew what she was doing. But this was just different. But she was confident; there was a procedure to everything, and this was no different, she told herself. Her patient was awake, which was unusual, but he was also aware of what was going on and knew better (she hoped) than to make any sudden movements. The base of his skull was a pretty sensitive area, after all.

 _Here goes_ , she thought, pressing the tip of the scalpel to his skin. It would be small, just the tiniest incision. It cut his skin like butter and blood welled up and oozed out. She wiped it away calmly as she teased the tissue in his neck apart, digging just a little deeper. These things weren't _meant_ to be removed, and his appeared to be slightly deeper than was standard, but she knew it was there. It took a little over two minutes before she located it, thanking God that it wasn't too deep or difficult to find.

"Here we are," she rasped, setting the scalpel aside and using the pressure of her fingers to work it out. "It's in there, alright…" A bit of blood seeped down his back and she quickly wiped it up, working on the chip until she got it free, holding it briefly between her bloodied, gloved fingers before she set it aside.

"Found it," she said. "See? All done. Now, I'm just going to stitch you up…"

 _Don't panic, don't panic,_ she told herself as she stitched him; it only took three stitches to close the little wound. _Don't panic_. But he had a chip in him. They were tracking him. They knew he was here. Thankfully, her hands remained steady until she was done and she stepped away. Barnes lifted his flesh hand to prod at the spot, but she stopped him.

"Careful," she warned, keeping her gloves on. She leaned over and picked up the chip again, and now her heart was positively pounding and her fingers trembled finely. Barnes stood to get a better look as she held it between her thumb and forefinger. It was so _small_ , tubular in shape, a little larger than a grain of rice. She took a deep, steadying breath, thankful that Daisy was doing her homework in her room. She didn't need to try and explain this to her, and she hadn't wanted her sister to see the minor surgery. Barnes reached for the implant with his steel hand, holding it gently.

"What should we—" she didn't get to finish. He crushed it to a fine powder between his fingertips, then smirked at her.

"There," he said.

"Was it a tracker?" she demanded.

"It seems likely."

"Then they must know you're here."

"Perhaps," he said. "Although, if that's the case, they would have come for me."

"Oh, my god," Pet said, gathering her bloody tools and stashing them in a biohazard bag with her gloves. "If you led them here—"

"I'll take care of it," he said dryly. "You don't need to be worried."

"I don't need to be worried," she retorted, hands on her hips. "I'm currently sheltering the single most wanted man on the face of the earth and I just dug a—a GPS unit out of your neck, and I shouldn't be worried?"

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," he said, and, for once, his voice seemed sincere. "You've been nothing but kind to me. I won't forget that."

"But they are coming," she said, brushing aside the sentiment.

"I can't be sure."

"Well, figure it out!"

"All we can do is wait, Pet," he said, and it was the first time he had said her name and it sounded strange on his lips. She blinked. He sounded a little tired, but there was tension in him. He tugged his shirt back on. "I'll be out of here soon as it is."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I think I should go," he said. "You've done a lot for me, and I appreciate that, but it's time, I think."

"What will you do? Where will you go?"

He smirked at her and it was genuine. His eyes sparkled in a way that was almost teasing. "Gonna miss me?"

 _Maybe_. "I am _worried._ There are people out there—"

"That's the idea," he said dryly. "I think I need to find Rogers. Or let him find me, since I know that he's looking—and figure out who I am. Or was." He shrugged a little but looked uneasy.

"Daisy," Pet murmured, and his face fell. He scratched at his head.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll talk to her before I go. Don't worry."

Pet scrubbed a hand over her face. She couldn't get that damned tracker out of her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, and her eyes flew open again, startled, when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She blinked and looked up at him and found him looking at her in a way that was different from the haughtiness with which he normally looked at her. His face was open, his eyes less guarded, and he looked only mildly uncomfortable.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," he said. "I truly do. But I think it's time."

"What caused the change?"

He shrugged. "Whatever happened yesterday that upset you, for one," he said. "And the tracking device. I can't keep putting you and Daisy in danger, and just my being here is putting you in harm's way. You've been too good to me. Better than I could deserve. You don't deserve the mess that's sure to follow me."

He hadn't been here long at all, but he had this way of worming himself into her heart and settling there. He needed care, and Pet was, if nothing else in this world, a caretaker. It was sad to see him go, and she would worry about him, afraid to turn on the TV and hear that he had been caught, or killed, or surrendered to Hydra. She'd stopped watching the stories on him, lately. They seemed so far-fetched, so inaccurate. Those people had no idea who he was, not _really_.

"How long?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt oddly attached to him. Like he was _hers_ , which was absurd, but it was a strange, instinctive attachment, the way one gets attached to the things that they have helped and seen grow, the way one gets attached to those who are lost and suffering.

"A week," he said. "Maybe. The sooner I leave the better for everyone."

She was nodding. It made sense. It would be a relief, she told herself, to have him gone. Technically, she'd been a hostage in her own home. Hadn't she? It hadn't felt that way, not lately. But he had to leave—then they could go back to their normal lives and forget he had ever come crashing in. It would be easy enough, she convinced herself, except that she knew it wouldn't. You don't just take in a super-assassin, feed him, give him a place to sleep, and then send him on his way and forget about it.

It was more complicated than that.

"Well," she said. "It'll be awful quiet around here with you gone." She hesitated. "And… if you need it, our home is always open to you."

He stared at her, then grinned. "I'm touched," he said. "But I'm not leaving tonight. I still got a couple things to figure out, first. Save your tears."

She rolled her eyes.

"Go to your room," she muttered, and he chuckled. She watched him walk away, back upstairs, and took a moment to herself, just a moment. Then she took a breath, shook herself, and put the tracker out of her mind as best she could. But her heart pounded just at the thought of it and she put her face in her hands for a moment, remembering his words: _I won't let them hurt you_.

* * *

For the next couple of days, Daisy had been, as usual, impossible to separate from Barnes's side. Pet had noticed this as soon as he had taken up residence in their home, of course, and had started using him to bribe Daisy into doing her homework more quickly. Tonight, Daisy and Barnes shared the couch; Barnes was on the laptop doing something and Daisy was sitting beside him, curled affectionately against his legs. It was an odd sight, to be certain, but Pet found that she trusted him when he said he would never hurt her.

He had a way with her that Pet admired. Daisy adored him; she looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it quickly became apparent that, even though he may not admit it or even realize it himself, he was wrapped around her little finger. Their interactions were something Pet always loved to watch. No matter what he was doing, no matter his mood, he was always kind to her, never cruel, never abrasive. He was endlessly patient with her chatter, and where, in the beginning, it had seemed to wear on his nerves, now he seemed to indulge it.

Daisy had started drawing pictures of the three of them together. Pet knew his leaving would be difficult for her. She wondered how he would break the news—and she would make sure _he_ was the one telling her. It was only right. But she couldn't think of that now. Instead, she watched them together, listening as Daisy went on and on about what she was learning in school. Barnes was good at making her laugh, and sometimes the confused look he got was enough to bring tears to Daisy's eyes. She couldn't remember ever hearing Daisy laugh quite so much.

Daisy was very affectionate with him, and always gentle, and Pet suspected it had played a huge part in thawing him out as he had been lately. She would hug him, run up to him and throw her arms around him. She would cling to him until he would pick her up with a smile, balancing her easily on his hip, holding her up with one arm as he went about his business. She would hold his hand, sometimes, the way kids did for reassurance. Pet would chase her playfully around the house, sometimes, and Daisy had made it a habit to shoot past Barnes, who would sweep her off her feet and hold her high in the air, out of Pet's reach, resulting in shrieks of laughter from Daisy. If he was in a particularly good mood, he would balance her on his shoulder and she would perch there like a happy little bird.

Pet was tired and she was stressed, and the tension she'd been sensing from Barnes all day told her that he was feeling it, too. They both worried incessantly about Hydra, but they couldn't let Daisy know. All they could do was wait, as Barnes had said, and it was an awful fate, Pet thought: _waiting_.

The TV was on and Pet had snuggled into the armchair; she felt her eyelids drooping. Daisy was watching TV next to Barnes, who was lost in the laptop. Daisy was still cuddled next to him, practically on top of him and, occasionally, he would lift a hand and pet the top of her head, gently, and she leaned into him, looking absolutely content. It was a nice view, she thought, to fall asleep to.

* * *

Pet was asleep in the armchair, curled up, one arm hiding her face. It was late, but it was the weekend, so Daisy was allowed to stay up past her bedtime; and, now that Pet was asleep, she could stay up as late as she wanted. Which, admittedly, wouldn't be too much longer. It was already hard to keep her eyes open.

She sighed fitfully and rubbed her eyes. Bucky was beside her, doing _something_ on his laptop. Super secret spy stuff, she figured. But her little sigh caught his attention and she felt him looking at her, so she turned her head, which was on his lap, up to look at him. She smiled softly.

"You look beat, kid," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you get to bed?"

"Nope," she said tiredly. "I wanna stay up all night."

"You're already half asleep," he pointed out with a little smile.

"Shh," Daisy urged, glancing at her sleeping sister. "Don't wake her— _she'll_ make me go to bed."

Bucky just chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said.

"What are you doing?"

"Spy stuff."

"I _knew_ it," Daisy said proudly, and he smiled more widely this time, his eyes glued to the screen, and scratched the top of her head with his hand. She cuddled into him a little more and he sighed and yawned. "You're tired, too," she said, catching his yawn. Her eyes watered.

"Maybe a little," he said.

"Go to sleep, then," she said.

"And leave you up by yourself?" he asked, snapping the laptop shut. "I don't think so." She giggled. "I can't really sleep anyway," he said.

"Why not? Bad dreams?"

"How'd you know?"

She felt a little sad. "I hear you at night, sometimes," she said softly, and suddenly he looked sad, too.

"I'm sorry, Daisy. I don't mean to scare you."

"I'm not scared," she said. "But you sure sound scared."

"Sometimes I am."

"That's okay," she said firmly. "Everyone gets scared, sometimes."

He grinned down at her. "Where'd you get so smart?"

She giggled. "Pet told me that one," she said. "I used to have nightmares, too."

"Really? About what?"

She was quiet for a moment. She hadn't thought about the nightmares for a long, long time. But they still scared her, sometimes. She was still sad about it, sometimes. She twisted her fingers in her pajama top and looked up at her friend.

"My mom and dad," she squeaked softly. "They died."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I was little," she mumbled. "I don't really remember. But Pet does. She doesn't like to talk about it, though. I think it still makes her sad." She looked up at her friend and found him already looking down at her. She pressed a little closer, until she was sitting on his lap. She sighed and he adjusted himself with a sigh to match hers, fixing them so that her head was leaning against his shoulder and outstretched arm. He was such a good friend, she thought. So warm and cuddly, so funny and nice.

"I knew bringing you home was a good idea," she said softly, closing her eyes. She petted his hand.

"You don't know how much I owe you, Daisy."

She snuggled into him. He smelled so nice, now—not like dirt and sweat and copper like he had before. He even looked nicer, now that his bristly beard was gone.

"Bucky?" she asked. She was so tired. But she had to tell him. She needed him to know. It was important.

"What is it, kid?"

"You're my best friend."

He was quiet and she wondered if maybe she shouldn't have said it. He was weird, sometimes, about things. Sometimes she didn't know what would make him act sad or mad or funny. She blinked open her eyes and saw that he was staring straight ahead before he breathed so deeply that his chest moved her and he looked down at her again.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding.

"You're my best friend, too, Daisy."

* * *

It didn't take Daisy long, after that, to fall asleep, and he was asleep right after. He woke again a couple of hours later, as he always did, to find Daisy snuggled tightly to him in a way that alarmed him; what if he had hurt her? She was so trusting, he thought, maybe too trusting. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he hurt her.

He had jerked awake, startled by a nightmare, and Daisy mumbled in her sleep. He stayed where he was for a moment, deciding that it wasn't safe for her here. So he adjusted his grip on her, slowly, gently, and he sat up and stood, waiting for her to wake, but she didn't. Quietly, he made his way upstairs to Daisy's room, tucking her in. She woke when he settled her on the bed, but she just smiled and crawled under the covers, her motions thick, fumbling, the motions of someone still stuck in sleep. She wriggled beneath the blankets and smiled a sleepy smile up at him, and he got down on one knee beside her bed. She reached out and hugged him around his neck, jostling the stitches she didn't know about, and she kissed his forehead before flopping back down beneath the blankets.

"Goodnight, Bucky," she said. She was already asleep.

"Goodnight, Daisy."

He stood and closed her door behind him as he left. He was about to go to his room when he remembered that the sister was still downstairs. He paused. He should wake her, he thought. It wouldn't do her any good to sleep there all night, so he headed back downstairs and found her still asleep on the couch, curled up like a puppy on a pillow.

Pet was an odd one, that was certain. He wasn't sure how he felt about her. She made him uncomfortable with her kindness; he didn't deserve it, but he was grateful for it and he knew that he was forever indebted to this woman—a woman who had _so much_ to lose, a woman who had _nothing_ but who had helped him anyway (after some coercion, but that was beside the point). But this, he could tell, her help now—it was all genuine. None of it was forced. He didn't deserve it.

He stared down at her sleeping form in the darkness. He would have been a frightening sight, he thought, if she were to wake now and find him standing over her. He smiled a little and reached down to nudge her arm, but she just mumbled and curled more tightly in on herself, which made him smile a little more. A puppy, he thought, for certain; normally the woman didn't seem capable of hurting a fly. That first day and the couple of days after had been difficult, but the closest he had seen her come to real anger or violence had been when she'd brandished the knife at him, and that had only been when she had felt scared, trapped and forced. But she was kind, and she was so _full_ of love; it seemed to roll off of her in waves. The thought of any harm coming to someone like her, the woman who had lost everything and who still was so giving of herself, made him furious.

He finally bent over, giving up on waking her, and scooped her gently into his arms. He did it in such a way that it didn't jostle her at all, and she only stirred slightly. He was a little surprised; she felt so warm and soft in his arms, one of them cold, hard steel. The contrast between them was apparent; she wasn't now, nor would she ever be, ready for what he was sure to bring into their lives should he stay much longer.

He had to leave. He would not let them hurt this family. It was _his_ family.

 **AN: So, this was fun and sweet to write. I also want to make it clear, if it wasn't already, that Bucky and Pet aren't romantic—I see their relationship as very familial, in a way. Anyways, please drop a review! I can't stop writing when I see how much you guys are enjoying this story! How do you feel about everyone's relationships so far?**


	9. Chapter 8

**AN: And time for some action… warning for violence/torture?**

Pet woke in her bed the next morning, and it took her a moment to figure out just why it felt so _wrong_. Then it came back to her: she had fallen asleep on the couch. How had she gotten here? She had a sneaking suspicion, but the possibility was a little too absurd for her to consider at this hour, so she brushed it off and stretched beneath the covers, groaning. She didn't have work today, and she was tempted to not get out of bed at all. It was one of the nice things about having taken Barnes in, she had discovered; Daisy was almost always preoccupied with him. He kept her busy, and it helped Pet get through the day, sometimes.

No sooner had she finished the thought than she heard Daisy's feet pounding down the hallway. She braced for a moment as Daisy shot past her closed door, clearly headed for the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. She felt a mild flare of panic—startling a brainwashed assassin from sleep was probably not the _best_ idea, so she threw back the covers and headed for the door.

Pet heard the door fly open, then heard a startled exclamation from her sister.

"Bucky?"

Pet poked her head out of her door and looked into the other room to find her sister having headed inside. She stood for a moment and looked around the empty room. Pet started slightly when there was a loud, sudden snarl, and a pair of arms appeared from out of nowhere and seized little Daisy up, dragging her into the shadows. Daisy shrieked and Pet's blood went cold. She pushed the door completely open and took one step out, then stopped where she was and relaxed when she heard Daisy squealing with laughter.

" _You got me!"_ Daisy was giggling somewhere out of sight, and she even heard Barnes give a low, affectionate chuckle.

"I got you," Barnes said as Daisy settled down. Pet leaned against the wall, listening as Daisy _shh'd_ him. "What is it?" Barnes asked lowly as Pet moved a little closer.

"A secret mission," Daisy whispered dramatically.

"Oh?" Barnes murmured. The corner of Pet's mouth tugged up and she bit her lip. "Who's the target?"

" _Pet_ ," Daisy said.

"I like the way you think, kid," Barnes said, and Pet could hear the smile in his voice. He spoke a little louder when he said: "Wait a minute, not so fast: you need a plan of attack."

Pet knew that he knew she was there; he was giving her just enough time to return to her bed, so she spun around and headed back to her room, closing her door softly behind her and burrowing back beneath the covers, pretending to be asleep, breathing deeply, waiting on her sister's antics.

She heard the knob turn and she knew they were here, but that was _all_ she heard. No other sound; no footsteps, no breathing, not even the sound of the door opening. The anticipation, she found, was killing her; it was eerie, alarming how quiet he could be, strange knowing he was in her room but that she had to keep her eyes closed, she had to pretend. She could sense him there, somewhere, and it took all of her strength not to open her eyes.

He was so quiet. She could imagine being one of his targets, and she felt chilled.

A soft gasp alerted her to her sister's presence just a moment before she landed on Pet's back, seemingly coming form nowhere, and it was then that she realized Barnes must have carried her in and _tossed_ her onto the bed. Pet gasped and screamed, a genuine sound of fright, as Daisy tackled her. Getting her bearings, Pet said, _"Hey!_ " and flipped them over, pinning her down and tickling her. Daisy shrieked and started screaming for Barnes.

"Bucky! Rescue mission!" she cried between giggles, and Pet glanced up at him as she continued to tickle her sister. She met his eyes, which were a little brighter than she'd seen them lately, and he was smiling softly. He raised an eyebrow at Pet, who just shrugged one shoulder. He nodded and stepped forward, growling, _"Leave her alone_ ," before he came up behind Pet, seized her around the middle with his flesh arm and tugged her away from Daisy. Pet yelped as he tossed her gently back onto the bed and, in one swift motion, pinned her hands above her head with his metal arm, tossed one of his legs over hers, and sat casually beside her as Daisy descended for her revenge.

Pet wasn't all that ticklish, but she played along, a little more distracted by how easily Barnes had immobilized her. It unnerved her, just a little, but thankfully he was watching her face carefully, and as soon as she gave him a look and started struggling, he looked to Daisy.

"I can't hold her much longer," he muttered, his brow creasing like he was struggling. "Daisy, _run_."

Daisy escaped just as Barnes released Pet, who chased Daisy out of the room. "You better hide before I get my hands on you," Pet warned, then waited a moment, giving Daisy time to hide before turning back to Barnes and returning to the bed. He sat up straight beside her, looking at the doorway, still with that soft, strange little smile on his face.

"Sorry about that," he said, finally looking at Pet again. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm fine," Pet assured. "Anyway, it's good to see her so happy." She hesitated. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He lifted one shoulder noncommittally, the metal one. His hair was a little rumpled and there were dark circles under his eyes, stubble lining his jaw, but it was true: he was looking better and better, more alive, more like a person and less like a machine.

"She…" he hesitated, tilting his head a little and looking away. "She said I was her best friend." His eyes flicked up to Pet, suddenly intense. She bit her lip.

"You haven't told her."

"No."

Pet sighed softly and scooted just a little closer to him. "Well," she said, leaning into him, just slightly, something like an affectionate nudge. "I could get used to you being here," she murmured, and he looked at her, _really_ looked at her, his eyes steady. "I know you're set on leaving, but… you're already here. She loves you. This is a small town, off the radar… you'd have plenty of time to recover, and in private." She shrugged, leaning away, tossing her legs over the side of the bed.

"But, Hydra," he said lowly, and she paused. It was a thought that never really left her mind, but there was another thought that had been accompanying it.

"Haven't come," she said. "After everything… what if there's no one left?" She gave him a small smile and stood in front of him, now. "Maybe you're safe. You could be safe, here. Think about it, is all I'm saying." He was looking up at her now with a strange, foreign expression in his eyes to accompany that usual distant look. But lately he didn't seem quite so distant.

"Anyway," she said briskly, grinning. She reached out and ruffled his messy hair, and he closed his eyes. "Don't forget to take a shower. And do something with that hair."

She turned and left him there, then paused at the doorway and found him already watching her. "Thanks for the lift, by the way," she said, a little awkwardly. "Last night, I mean." He just nodded and she turned and hurried back downstairs to find Daisy.

* * *

It was after dinner the next night. Pet was in the shower, one of the few spans of alone time she actually got; with _two_ people in her house to take care of, time alone was few and far between. There was always _something_ going on. This night, as it turned out, was no different. She sighed and shut off the water.

"What is it?" she called from her spot in the shower, still dripping, her voice echoing.

"There's someone at the door," Daisy said, and it was the tone of her voice that made Pet's heart stop.

"Who?"

The knob shook violently and Pet's heart was pounding now. Barnes spoke. "It's Hydra," he said. "I'm certain. You need to hide."

Pet's knees went weak and she had to throw one hand out against the tile wall for support. Her mind raced. No, she thought. She would _not_ let them find him. She'd seen what it had done to him, she'd seen that aftermath—she clenched her jaw, stepped out of the shower, and tied a towel around herself. Her hand shook as she opened the bathroom door, still dripped wet, and found herself face to face with Barnes.

"No," she said firmly. "I'll handle it."

"You can't," he said.

"I told them to wait," Daisy said. "They don't know he's here."

"Did you answer the door?"

"She looked out the window," Barnes said. He looked bad, she realized. Barnes, bless his heart, actually looked _frightened_ , and that was what did her in; the scared eyes, the pale, strained face—

"Hide Daisy," she said, pushing her sister toward Barnes. "I don't need to know where. It doesn't matter. Daisy, sweetheart, go with Bucky, okay? And stay there until I come get you. Don't come out for _anyone_ else. Not even Bucky."

Daisy was nodding. She looked upset. "Don't let them hurt him," she pleaded, hugging Barnes's leg.

"I won't," Pet said, adjusting her towel, sweeping her damp hair over one shoulder.

"I can handle it," Barnes started, and she shook her head.

"No," she insisted, keeping her voice calm, soothing in spite of the panic. "I know what they've done to you—I'll protect you, alright? You just need to let me. Everything is going to be fine."

"But—"

She stepped right up to him.

"Look at me Barnes: _Stay out of sight_. You do _not_ come out for anything, do you understand me? I don't care what happens. Do not reveal yourself. I won't let them hurt you again, but I need you to do this for me. Can you do this?"

He hesitated. His jaw was tight, his neck strained. "Come on, Bucky," Daisy pleaded, and she saw his resolve weaken.

"I can't let you do this for me," he said, and she was getting frustrated, now.

"Just go," she said, turning away from him. She headed for the stairs and heard the firm, demanding knock. She was sure she would faint.

" _Coming!"_ she shouted. Barnes grabbed her arm.

"Clothes?" he asked, nodding to her towel.

"No," she said. "It'll make them uncomfortable. Keep the conversation short." He didn't release her. "Please, Barnes. I'm asking you to take care of her. I need you to do this for me."

He nodded slowly and released her, then picked up Daisy. "I won't let them hurt you," he promised.

"Let them," she said roughly as he disappeared into the darkness. Heart pounding, she raced down the stairs, waited a moment, and opened the door, clutching the towel around herself.

Four men stood on the other side of the door, each of them dressed in suits. She couldn't place it, but there was something intimidating about all of them.

"Hi," she said. "Can I help you?" She stood in the crack of the door, sure to hide their view. Their eyes scanned her up and down in the fading sunlight, taking in the water on her skin, the towel.

"Sorry to interrupt your night, ma'am," said one. "Would you like to put on some clothes—?"

"Just make it quick," she said sharply. "Do you know what time it is?"

"We understand, ma'am," he said. Another of them was watching her face intently. She cleared her throat.

"So?"

"We're looking for someone," he said. "He's a very dangerous man—a criminal, you understand. We know he's been in the area."

"Who are you, exactly?"

"Police," he said, and, to her surprise, opened his coat to show her a badge as well as an ID. They were good.

"Sorry, officers," she said, struggling to keep her voice neutral. "But I haven't seen anyone."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Pretty sure," she said, trying to keep her voice from sounding too cold.

"Let me clarify," the man said, and his voice was venomous. "We know that he's been on the property. Are you sure you haven't seen him or noticed anything strange? He's hard to miss—this is him." He held up a tablet with a picture of Barnes on it, but he wasn't _Barnes_ , at least not how she had ever known him.

"Hey—isn't he the guy who's been on the news?" she said, pretending to think, pretending to be scared. "You don't think he'd be here, do you?"

The man took a step forward and shoved the door open, pushing her back a little. She yelped.

"We're going to have a look around."

"Do you have a warrant, _officer?_ "

To her surprise, he brandished one in her face. He shoved past her and the others followed him inside.

"Excuse me—"

"Ma'am," said the one in the lead. "Let me be clear. We know he's been here. Things will go much more smoothly if you tell us where he is."

She swallowed. Her hands shook. The fear had formed a solid lump in her throat and she felt her lips tremble.

"I don't know anything," she said faintly, tears welling up in her eyes. The man took a step closer, placed a hand on his shoulder, and lowered his voice. It took on a surprisingly, disarmingly gentle tone.

"Miss," he said. "If he's threatening you, we can protect you." Barnes's words from when he had first entered their home rattled around in her head. He would kill her. That's what he had said. She swallowed and looked away. If she played her cards right… she allowed the fear she had felt upon first meeting him to bubble to the surface and a tear leaked from her eye. She sniffed.

"We won't let him hurt you."

"I should get changed," she said, staring at the ground, and the man nodded and followed her upstairs to her room, refusing to leave her side, looking away as she tugged on a shirt and pants.

"C'mon," he said, still in that gentle voice, guiding her back downstairs and seating her at the kitchen table. He kept one arm around her shoulders as they walked and it took every ounce of strength she had not to cringe away from it.

She was in over her head, she thought as she looked at him. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't a spy. She was a veterinarian. She had a kid to take care of. She hadn't signed up for this.

"We know he's here," said one of them, the tallest one. "We know that he's been staying here. But the other day his tracking device went offline."

"There's no one here," she insisted, her voice cracking. Two of the others were searching the house.

He slammed his hand down beside her and she flinched. "This will be so much worse for you if you fight it."

"He's threatening you," said the first man, the one who was being gentle. "Isn't he?"

"Good cop, bad cop?" she asked. "Really?"

"Look," he said, taking a seat beside her, taking her hand. She tried to squirm away but he held fast and it alarmed her. "You're just scared, aren't you? He can be very persuasive. We're trying to _help_ you."

Bad Cop was at the sink. "Who lives here with you?"

"My sister," Pet said. "She—she's just a kid, she—"

"Why are there three plates in the sink?" he asked. He looked at the table. "Three cups?"

She sealed her lips together. "Her friend came over."

"We've been watching your house all day," he said. "No one's come or gone."

"Sleepover," she snapped.

"Where are they now?"

"Fuck off."

He came over to her and hit her, hard, across the face. She gasped and tasted blood. "Wrong answer," he said. "We've seen surveillance footage in the park. We know he came home with your sister. Daisy, right? We know everything about you, Miss Ortiz. We know he's been here for a while. Please don't make this ugly."

"I don't know anything," she snapped, spitting out blood, and he hit her again. The other man had a good grip on her hand. He had started to apply pressure to one of her fingers, bending it in the wrong direction. She gritted her teeth.

" _I don't know anything,"_ she cried, struggling against his grip. "Stop it!"

There was a soft _crack_ as the bone in her finger gave way beneath the pressure. She screamed as he released her hand and she cradled it. Bad Cop, behind her now, seized the back of her neck and slammed her face into the table. More blood.

"Please stop," she gasped. "Please. I don't know anything, I don't—"

Good Cop grabbed her hand again as the other held her down and this time he produced a knife. "This time," he said, "the finger comes off."

" _No!_ " she shrieked. "Please, no, please—"

"You've got till the count of three. One—"

She struggled desperately, her own blood smearing her face.

"Two—" The knife cut into her skin.

"Please, _please—_ "

"Three—"

"Okay!" she cried. She snatched her hand back as both men released her, towering over her. "Okay, I—he threatened me. He said he would kill me if I didn't give him a place to stay—he's going to kill me now," she sobbed, playing it up, just a little. "I'm dead. Oh, my god, I'm dead—"

"We can protect you—"

"No, you can't, not from him, you don't understand—I've been a prisoner in my own home, he—he—"

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know—"

Bad cop dragged her to her feet, then hit her hard once, twice, three times until she went to the ground, spitting out blood. She couldn't see out of one eye; blood had dribbled into it. He kicked her in the ribs and she rolled over.

"Come out, come out," sang Bad Cop. "The longer you wait, soldier, the more damage we'll do—"

She curled up.

"Please stop," she sobbed. "I can't—he'll kill me—"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

He kicked her again.

"Where is the soldier?"

" _I don't know!"_ she screamed.

" _Where—is—he?"_ He was shouting, now, too, each word punctuated with a violent kick to her ribs. She felt something crack. She couldn't breathe. The floor around her was slick with blood. His hand was in her hair and he dragged her to her feet, shoving her against the table, where she hit and went to her knees.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," he said as he loomed over her. He knocked her back and straddled her, grinning as both hands went around her throat and squeezed. "Last chance. Then we'll kill you, and we'll find your sister. I talked to her, earlier—sweet kid. I'm sure it won't take much to get her to talk."

"Leave her alone," Pet panted. He smirked and began to squeeze her throat. She choked as the pressure increased, his thumbs digging into her windpipe.

"Where is my asset?"

She clawed at his hands, digging deep gouges into his skin, but it wasn't enough. Her vision was clouding, growing dark around the edges. She felt her eyes start to roll back and then—it was gone. She could breathe again and she rolled over, coughing and gasping, but it hurt—oh, it _hurt_. He smacked her head into the tile.

"Fuck you," she ground out.

"Silva," he said into his earpiece. "Find the sister."

"No—" she choked. "No—I— _fine!_ " There was silence. "I'll tell you," she gasped. "I'll tell you. Just please stop. Don't hurt her. Please."

"Silva, wait."

She paused, struggling to breathe. There wasn't enough air, not enough—another blow to her ribs brought her back and she stayed where she was for a moment, sobbing. She couldn't betray him, she thought. She couldn't. And this was a huge risk, but—

She raised her voice a little, hoping he would hear, hoping he would catch on.

"The shed," she gasped. "He's in the shed. Out back. But—he's waiting for you. He'll kill you."

"He won't," Bad Cop said confidently. "Silva, Cho, bring it in. Roberts, stay with her. Kill her if she acts up."

Good Cop nodded. The others emerged from the shadows, flanking Bad Cop. "You'd better pray he's there," he warned.

* * *

He was in the attic with Daisy on his lap. He'd wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest, murmuring lowly, covering her ears, rocking her back and forth—for his benefit and hers, he thought. He was having a panic attack, and he took just as much comfort in her as she did in him.

When Pet started screaming, _really_ screaming downstairs, he knew he knew he couldn't stay where he was. He settled Daisy down but she clung to him, so he kissed her forehead and promised to come back for her, made her promise to close her eyes, cover her ears, and stay quiet. When she did all of these, he crept down quietly and headed for his room, grabbing his weapons. He flinched as Pet screamed again.

He would not allow this. He would kill them all, and he would do it slowly. He felt a great deal of admiration for her as he listened to her play dumb at first, then break down, confessing she'd been coerced into her situation—technically true, he knew, but the situation had also changed.

There was another scream. She was sobbing. Vague, distant memories lapped at his consciousness, memories of sounds and screams just like these, but he thought he had been the one to cause them. He swallowed back bile, sticking to the darkness as he approached—

" _Fine!"_ he heard her scream, and he froze. " _I'll tell you,_ " she gasped, and his mouth went dry. This was different, he thought. Her voice was desperate. They had threatened Daisy. He had known, from that first day, that the one way to get to Pet was through Daisy. He had known then that it was a dangerous weakness. " _I'll tell you. Just please stop. Don't hurt her. Please._ "

He couldn't explain the hurt he felt or where it came from. He should have expected as much. He couldn't even find it in himself to be angry. But she had done it—the thing he had feared, had been fearing, and she had done it. She was selling him out. He stayed where he was and licked his lips.

 _She had sold him out. They were going to find him_.

What could he do? She was fine, now. They would spare her. He knew that they would. They would come for him and they would spare her, and he could fight them, but more would come. There would always be more. And they would come for Pet, again, and they would be angrier this time. As long as he was associated with them, they would always be in danger. Daisy didn't deserve that—neither did Pet. It wasn't her fault, not really.

He could let them take him. That would put an end to it all. But he was a coward, he thought. He couldn't do it. Not again, never again. And it would be like spitting in Pet's face after everything she had done for him. She had been so strong. _It wasn't her fault_.

He had to go, he realized. He had to run. They would realize he had left, they would know it, and they would follow him. They would leave Pet alone. She would be safe, and so would Daisy. But he didn't have much time. He turned and made for Pet's room, where he knew her cell phone was. There was one last kindness he could do them—one last thing he could do to protect them. He dialed the number.

They would be protected, he thought. It was the least he could do.

" _911, what is your emergency?_ "

He listed the address robotically. "There's a murder in progress. Act quickly." And he hung up. The police would be here soon. Civilian police, no match for Hydra, but when they learned what was going on, once Pet told them, they would find her better protection. Maybe even someone involved with SHIELD, which he suspected was just as "dead" as Hydra was.

He opened her window—already he could hear the sirens. There was a pit in his stomach and a gaping hole in his chest—he was hurt, disappointed, angry with himself, but none of that mattered in the face of the guilt. He had overstayed his welcome and it was time to go, the told himself. If he wanted to help them, he had to leave them.

* * *

He wasn't there, and now they had come back with a vengeance. They beat her brutally; punched and kicked, choked and hurt until she was wishing she was dead. She'd started calling out to him—she couldn't take this. Her head hurt, her body hurt, breathing hurt—she could feel herself slipping, slowly.

"Barnes," she cried, her voice muffled, thick and slurred with blood. But he never came to help her, and she wondered, vaguely, if they had found him after all.

It didn't stop until one of them was on top of her and was choking her again, and this time she was sure she was going to die and that little knowledge was a relief. It would all be over soon—except that it wasn't. The pressure was gone, they were running, and she thought _Here he is_ , but it wasn't him. Someone was near her, voices all around her, jostling her, barking orders, but she was still sleeping and she welcomed the darkness.

When she woke again, she was on her back in a blindingly clean room, white and crisp, in a gown and in white sheets and she couldn't move and she panicked and started screaming. They put her to sleep again and when she woke the second time, there was a nurse beside her and she couldn't figure out why she was in a hospital.

"Hi, there," the nurse said kindly, and Pet stared at her. She felt numb. Something was wrong.

"Where am I?" Pet croaked, wincing; it hurt to talk.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Pet stared up at the ceiling. She felt panicked, terrified, but she couldn't remember _why_. The nurse approached her and checked a few things, shined a light in her eyes, scribbled on her clipboard.

"Can you tell me your name?" the nurse probed gently.

"Pet," she said. "Pet Ortiz."

"Good," she soothed, and went on to ask questions about the month and the year. Finally, Pet looked at her, grabbed her wrist with a hand that was much weaker than she could ever remember it being.

"What happened?" she asked, but it was all coming back to her.

"You were attacked," the nurse said. "You were very lucky. There was an anonymous tip—the police got there just in time."

 _Daisy_. The thought hit her like a freight train.

"Where's Daisy?"

The nurse's face crumpled a little and she bit her lip. "She…" she hesitated. "They're looking for her."

Pet tried to sit up but the nurse gently pressed her back. "What do you mean?"

"You've been in a coma," the nurse said. "When they saved you, they couldn't find your sister. They're looking for her, but—whoever did this to you must have taken her."

 **AN: So I tried to explain a bit if Bucky's logic… hopefully it makes sense. Also, sidenote… if anyone has any ship ideas or if it's something you really want, I have no problem writing it in. If it's something most of you want to read, well… I'm writing for you to enjoy :) Just let me know your thoughts/ideas in a review!  
**


	10. Chapter 9

**AN: I enjoyed writing the Bucky/Pet interaction from Steve's POV. I think it gives a nice look at their relationship from outside eyes. Most of this is from his POV!**

 **Present Day**

Pet didn't sleep much that night. Instead she stayed awake on the couch, her back against the cushions, lost in her mind. Every so often she would hear movement, but she wasn't disturbed. It was Sam who woke first the next morning at some ungodly hour. He offered her coffee but she declined, and then, mug in hand, he sat beside her quietly. She glanced at him and he gave her a kind, disarming smile and she immediately felt a little shaky, felt her walls slip, just a little.

"How you holding up?" he asked, and she shrugged one shoulder.

"Okay, I guess," she mumbled.

"Looks like you got something on your mind," he said, peering at her over the rim of his mug. She groaned; he was too perceptive. He was right. Aside from her sister's kidnapping, she _did_ have something else on her mind: _guilt_. She rested her face in her hands weakly, slumping forward as she sighed.

"That obvious?"

"You don't strike me as the deceiving type," he said kindly. "Wanna talk about it?"

She hesitated, then looked up at him, blinking slowly. "Was I too hard on him?"

"Who?" She just stared at him. "Oh—you mean Bucky?"

"Yeah," she said, and it was strange to hear someone other than Daisy call him Bucky. "I—I acted like a crazy person."

"It was a little _intense_ ," he allowed, inclining his head. "But I don't think it was unfounded."

"I shouldn't have pushed him," she murmured, shaking her head, covering her eyes with her hands. "I shouldn't have shouted at him."

"You were upset," Sam said. "You're only human. To be honest, it's the most emotion I've seen from the guy since we found him."

"How—how's he doing?" she rasped softly. "Really?"

"Eh," Sam said, making a face. "I mean, I don't know what they did to him. I can guess, but—he's doing alright. Kinda quiet. A little weird."

She smiled softly. He _was_ weird. "This isn't me," she told Sam, gesturing at herself. "I'm not normally like this."

"You mean the crying and the yelling?" Sam asked, a twinkle in his eye, and she smiled softly in spite of herself. She nodded. "Well, you're under a lot of pressure. That gets you a free pass, in my book."

"Thanks, Sam," she rasped.

"The crazy has to stop, though," he warned. "Once we get your sister back, that's it. This becomes a zero-tolerance-zone with the crazy. We've got enough of that around here."

His smile was warm, friendly, genuine, like the sun peaking through clouds. She swore it physically warmed her, and it did take away the sharp edges of the pain. He turned on the TV, still beside her, and made idle small talk for a little while: he asked her about herself, her job, asked for more details about her time with Barnes. Before long, Steve had wandered into the room, greeting them with a gentle _good morning_ , spotting Pet on the couch.

"I see you didn't take the bed," he mused.

"Couldn't sleep," she murmured, hating the rough rasp to her voice. She hoped it wasn't permanent. "I've done enough of that, lately."

* * *

Steve dropped his head at her words, nodding a little. He supposed that was true. He smirked, just a little, and said, "Yeah, I get it."

Her eyes widened, like she was startled or upset. "Oh," she said. "No. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," he said. "I'm just saying I understand."

"It was only eleven days," she said softly, almost to herself. "It was a stupid thing to say—"

"Hey," he said. "Doesn't matter. Don't minimize what you've been through. Like I said, I get it. You go under, and you wake up and everything's different, right?" She looked away, down at her hands. "The people you love are gone. And the thought of ever sleeping again is…"

"Terrifying," she said, combing her hand through her thick, dark hair. She met his eyes hesitantly. Sam was looking between them, nodding to himself. She held his eyes for just a moment before she looked away, nodding and sucking on her lower lip, where there was a rough, fresh-looking scar. It was different, now, he thought; looking at her the next morning after a night of fleeting sleep. He could see the exhaustion in her, the fear, the tension. He could also see the guilt in her eyes, and he had a pretty good feeling he knew why that was.

"How's Barnes?" she asked suddenly, and she was looking at him again, those big amber eyes wide, emotional.

"He's alright," Steve said. "He feels awful—not that I'm defending him—"

"I don't need you to defend me."

Pet started. Sam turned around and Steve turned his head: Bucky stood in the doorway, his hair a mess. It always seemed to be a mess, lately, and rough stubble lined his jaw. His eyes were darkly shadowed, his lips pale, taut, his eyes and motions jumpy.

"Hey," Sam said, chipper as ever, and Steve was grateful for that. "Coffee in the kitchen."

"Pass," Bucky said, and his eyes were on Pet, but he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. The two watched each other for just a moment, both Steve and Sam looking back and forth between them; Bucky looked nervous and flighty; Pet looked upset, exhausted, like all the steam had been let out of her. After a moment Sam cleared his throat.

"Awkward," he mumbled, and Steve shot him a look. Sam just shrugged, taking a swig of coffee, and he was right: It was painfully awkward.

"I'll go," Bucky said.

"Hi," Pet said simultaneously in her rough voice, and it came out as a squeak. They both stared at each other. Bucky looked confused, more nervous than ever, and Pet's entire focus, every fiber, seemed to be zeroed in on him. "Um," she said softly, and Bucky just stood there, so still, just staring. "Can we talk?"

All eyes were on him now; it was like watching a tennis match, Steve thought. Bucky, still frozen, finally nodded, just slightly, and came a little closer, moving like a cautious animal. Pet patted the couch's arm beside her and Bucky came around, paused, and then finally looked at Sam.

"Move," he said, and Sam looked miffed but he moved. "Please," he added as an afterthought, and his face suddenly seemed to crumple, and the saddest, most forlorn look Steve had ever seen him wear took over his face. It was this strange thing he did, Steve had noticed, always with the Please and Thank You.

" _Well, hey,_ " Sam had joked. " _At least he's polite_." But it felt like so long ago, now.

Apparently it was significant, though, because at the sound of it Pet dropped her head into her hands for a moment, laughing a laugh that was halfway a sob. Bucky looked lost, but his eyes never left her.

"Well," Pet said, "good to know she taught you well."

Bucky did the strangest thing, then: He smiled. It was a small, half-smile, wistful, but he smiled. His eyes were damp. "I'm going to fix it," Bucky said, and his voice was so serious. They seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room, and it felt intrusive but Steve was fascinated. "I'm going to get her back, Pet."

Her head was still bowed, one hand on her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," he said, like he couldn't stop himself. It was strange, hearing him so vocal. "I'm so sorry, I'm going to make it right—"

"I'm sorry," Pet said suddenly, her head snapping up, and he blinked at her. "I—I'm scared. You know? So scared. They took my kid, and I didn't know what else to do and I was so angry, and I had to blame someone and I blamed you, because you weren't there and it was so easy but—"

"It's my fault—"

"You did everything I asked you to do," she said. "I know that. I _know_ it. You hid her—the police said she was taken from the attic. They found blood. She didn't get there herself, I know you hid her, and—"

"I should have known—"

"How could you?" she asked. "How could you have known?"

"I should have trusted you—"

"I'm sorry for the way I acted," she said, and she was speaking quickly now, her tone upset. "I know, _I know_ what they did to you and I shouted at you and I pushed you and I—I shouldn't have put my hands on you. I always told myself I wouldn't lose it because I didn't want to be like them and—" her voice was squeaking, now, a few tears having rolled down her cheeks. "I just want her back. It's making me crazy and I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to apologize," he said, and they were all clearly taken aback. He was getting emotional now. "You—you opened your home to me—and the one time you needed me _I wasn't there—_ "

"Shh," she said.

"I'll find her," he said. "I'll make them pay. I swear."

Pet was nodding now and there was a silence. Finally, she spoke, and her voice was shaky but not without humor.

"It's nice to see you, again," she said timidly. "I probably would have missed you if I wasn't so pissed off—"

"Told you you would," he said, and she laughed another shaky laugh. Steve and Sam exchanged a glance.

They'd told him the basics of Bucky's time with this little family, but it hadn't occurred to Steve, until just now, that the two had formed a sort of bond. He didn't know anything about Pet, really, only what he had seen so far: that she was scared, that she loved her sister dearly, enough to track down the Winter Soldier and confront him, and that she had a good heart. It seemed to radiate from her, and Bucky himself had told Steve that _"the girl wasn't a fighter_." But they had this way around each other, this ease, but they were both so alert; Pet watched him carefully, and the way she looked at him—well, there was no mistaking the compassion in her eyes. She looked at him in a way she didn't look at Steve or Bucky, and it took Steve a moment to realize it was protectiveness. And Bucky looked to her, a lot, gauging her responses, watching her reactions to everything.

It was a strange interaction, one that fascinated him and, admittedly, made him a little jealous. How had Bucky bonded with the woman, a complete stranger, while things between Steve and him were rocky? Why did he speak to _her_ more than anyone else? Was her turning up here a blessing?

Ever since they'd found him, Bucky'd had this childlike quality to him that Steve couldn't place; a tentativeness, a brokenness, an uncertainty. He'd never seen his friend this way before, and it was unnerving and, if he was completely honest, he didn't know how to handle it. But, now that Pet was here, it made a little more sense, the way he looked at her, the way she had his attention without realizing it. She'd been the one to care for him when he'd needed it, she and her sister; _she_ had been the one to take him in and feed him and clothe him. And that, Steve thought, having been so vulnerable (and Steve _knew_ that he was so, so vulnerable now) with someone, forged a bond, and he was looking at it, now right in front of him, sitting on the couch.

It sparked something in him, a determination: he would find the girl. They would get her back, and he would stop at nothing until they had her.

Bucky and Pet were speaking now, and Steve just listened. She was clearly still upset, but now the emotion seemed to have turned inward.

"How have you been?" she asked him.

"Alright," he said, shrugging one shoulder. He still had that look on his face.

"You look well," she observed.

"I miss your cooking," he muttered.

"Hey," Sam said, offended, and Pet grinned and rolled her eyes.

"You've obviously never tasted good cooking."

"I'm _right here_ ," Sam muttered, and Steve laughed. Pet sighed, then, and stood, and Bucky looked up at her. She looked down at him and did the strangest thing, so strange that it actually made Steve tense up, just a little: she reached out and cupped his jaw affectionately, tracing her thumb over his skin briefly as he leaned into the touch, just slightly. Then she pulled away, rolled her shoulders, winced a little, and looked at Steve and Sam.

"I should go," she said. "I really don't want to overstay my welcome."

Steve knew she just wanted to leave, so he stood with her. "I'll walk you," he offered.

"Oh, no, Sir, you really don't have to—"

"Just Steve is fine," he chuckled. "And please. It's no trouble."

She nodded slowly and he walked toward her as she edged for the door, looking uncomfortable. Bucky watched her go and Sam shook her hand.

"Just keep me in the loop," she was saying. "Tell me what you can."

"You don't have to go," Bucky said. "Does she?"

"Of course not," Steve said, catching Pet's eye. "You're always welcome here, Pet."

"Thanks, but I—I just need to be alone. Okay?"

"Understood," Steve said.

* * *

She was quiet most of the way back to her hotel, and Steve found himself wondering if she had _always_ been so quiet, or if it was a side effect of everything she had been through. Her eyes were distant, her movements still a little stiff, and she looked haunted. A honking car horn made her flinch violently and she smacked into him before she fluttered away, all wide eyes and apologies, and it would have been comical if it wasn't so sad. He'd just reassured her and calmed her down, told her she'd had nothing to be embarrassed about, though she seemed to feel differently.

He chatted idly with her a little bit, interested in what kind of woman she was. Who, in their right mind, would have allowed someone like Bucky into their home? It spoke volumes about her, but he just wasn't sure what, exactly, it said. Whatever the case, he was on her side, now. She seemed a little nervous around him, shy, embarrassed, and he suspected it had something to do with their first encounter, which she had already apologized for. He didn't hold it against her.

Finally, they made it to her hotel.

"Thanks," she rasped, "for walking me back."

"It's no problem," he said kindly. "And—here." He scribbled his phone number down on his notepad, tore out the sheet, and handed it to her. She looked at it, her brows knitted together for a moment before she looked up at him.

"It's a phone number," he teased. "Don't look so confused." She swallowed. "Just in case you need anything. Alright? Anything at all, don't hesitate, I mean it."

"You don't have to do that," she mumbled.

"I want to," he said, and she looked a little uncomfortable for just a moment. "Like I said, I have an idea of what it's like." She was nodding slowly, and her eyes were damp.

"Wow," she murmured. "Thank you."

"Go ahead and send me a text when you have the time so we can contact you if we need to." She nodded. "Just remember, you can come over any time. A friend of Bucky's is a friend of mine: you're always welcome. And, besides, you have this way with Bucky…"

"I just took care of him," she said around a shrug. "That's all."

"Well, whatever it is, I think we could use a little more of it." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around, giving her a small smile. "Anyway. I'll leave you alone."

"Thank you, Steve," she said earnestly, and he ducked his head a little, backing away from her.

"Remember that number," he said sternly, wagging his finger at her, and this actually startled a little laugh out of her and she nodded.

"Yes, sir," she said with a little half-hearted salute, but it was nice to see her a little less dreary, if only for a moment. He grinned and turned away as she headed back inside.

He was almost home when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to take a look, and it was from a strange number.

 _Hi Steve_ , it read. _It's Pet. Sorry to bother you but i just wanted to thank you again for your kindness. after everything thats happened you dont know how much I needed it. it means a lot to me. Best Wishes._

He smiled, just a little, and sent a quick reply: _Everything is going to be ok, Pet._

 **AN: 85 reviews and counting… think we can get this to 100? Thank you all so much for your support so far! How do you feel about everyone's interactions here? I like that Pet and Steve can relate to each other just a little…**


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